


Want You In My Court

by Ourladyofresurrection



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Ryan Bergara, College AU, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Phone Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej - Freeform, Top Shane Madej, handjobs, i learned the rules of basketball for this fic, it started out as a 7k fic how did it end up like this, it was only a fic (it was only a fic), phone sex operator shane, ryan bergara - Freeform, shane madej - Freeform, way too many basketball references, yes i can reference the killers in my tags what are you a cop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24317659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ourladyofresurrection/pseuds/Ourladyofresurrection
Summary: Ryan looked at his hands, tapping out a nonsensical beat on the dashboard.God, even that was hot too.His face was impossibly smug, favouring him with a lopsided grin that had something hot and needy clench deep in Ryan’s gut.How do you gracefully say:‘Hey, I know we’re in a group project now, but I think I came to the sound of your voice the other night and I can’t stop thinking about it and frankly, it’s driving me a little crazy‘Hint: you don’t.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 42
Kudos: 423





	1. Dropping A Dime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deanwinchesterissaved](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanwinchesterissaved/gifts), [chaostheoryy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaostheoryy/gifts), [Bottomryanbitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bottomryanbitch/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Restricted Work] by [beethechange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beethechange/pseuds/beethechange). Log in to view. 



> Special thanks to Alex ([deanwinchesterissaved](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanwinchesterissaved/pseuds/deanwinchesterissaved)) for suggesting this prompt to me and inadvertedly turning this 7k PWP oneshot into a fully-fledged fic; and the Discord server, who never cease to encourage my wild ideas. Notable mentions to Kobe Bryant's Wikipedia page and every questionable guide to basketball plays I pored over to write this.
> 
> And to Kobe's 2013-2014 season...press 'F' in the comments to pay respects.
> 
> (First chapter can be read as a stand-alone, that was the original fic before it became a 50k slowburn fic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dropping a Dime- to set other players up in a clever manner ; to make a call_

_ “You need to get laid.” _

The words cut through Ryan’s thoughts like a knife through hot butter, an indignant, almost petulant tone shifting readily in his chest as he rose slightly from the couch, where he was sprawled across the cushions watching the basketball game.

_“ Excuse me?” _

“Oh, don’t look so offended, you were thinking it too,” Zach said, flopping down beside him on the ratty cushions, plucking the remote from his hand and turning off the TV.

“Hey, I was watching that!”

“Ryan, watching Lakers re-runs isn’t going to do shit for your love life unless you plan on marrying your basketball shorts.”

“Maybe I am! Is that so bad?”

Zach wrinkled his nose, “Depends- when’s the last time you washed those things?”

Ryan paused for a minute, genuinely contemplating the question. It wasn’t a serious inquiry so much as it was one of his roommate’s many attempts to razz him, but it had struck something strangely curious in his mind.

He grimaced slightly, brain failing to draw up the last time his shorts had made their way into the weekly wash cycle. 

“It’s like bras or jeans or something,” he grumbled. “They don’t follow...they don’t follow the same laundry laws.”

Zach pulled a face that could only be described as disgusted— mildly horrified, even. Which was rich, in Ryan’s opinion, coming from the guy who frequently streaked, baring all his naked glory to his roommates and whatever furniture he managed to set his eyes on.

Real rich.

“You know what, I take it back. I don’t want to subject any of the girls in the dormitory to your...” he waved a hand wordlessly. “Manly rituals.”

Ryan rolled his eyes, “Well, these ‘manly rituals’ landed me a girlfriend not so long ago, so, I’m not feeling too scared, Kornfeld.”

His tone was light, verging on a laugh that didn’t quite meet the air. But the slow rumble of his chest was enough to dislodge something painful and heavy inside, his face falling slightly at the familiar ache.  Ryan had broken up with his girlfriend just last week. It was a long time coming— it was a miracle it even lasted that long between their busy schedules. But the realization of it was painful, nevertheless.  His roommates had been surprisingly supportive in their own bizarre ways— Ned giving him the occasional awkward pat on the shoulder, Todd choosing not to argue when Ryan snared the last slice of pizza out of the box. And now Zach, trying to hook Ryan up for...what reason?

“Well, good. Because you gotta get your head back in the game, Bergara. You’re not getting any younger over here.”

Ryan snorted, “Tell that to your receding hairline.” 

Zach gasped in mock-offence, carding his hands through the fine brown hair combed across his round head. “I’ll have you know, my hair is perfectly luscious.”

He pulled his fingers away, hair remaining suspended in the air, looking not unlike a scientist who’s experiment went gravely wrong. Ryan stifled a laugh.

“See? Volume.”

He shook his head, snatching the remote back from Zach. “I don’t need a date, alright? I just wanna watch the game.”

Zach frowned, “That’s your plan? Watching Kobe work the basketball court until your dick shrivels up and dies?”

“My dick is not going to— you know what? I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

His roommate let out an exasperated sigh, as if the interaction physically pained him. Ryan didn’t know why he just couldn’t leave him be. He was perfectly content spending his night like this, curled up on the couch with a beer and Lakers re-runs playing across the screen, trying not to think about Helen.

But of course, because he had no regard for Ryan’s choices, Zach was unrelenting in his pestering.

“Look, Kobe had that fucked up knee in the 2014 season, but did he give up? No. Because he’s Kobe fucking Bryant.”

“Yeah, and then he got absolutely pummelled and went on to play his worst season, so,” Ryan rolled his eyes. Of course Zach would try to use his limited knowledge of basketball against him in some weird metaphor.

“And you’re not Kobe Bryant. I’m taking extensive liberties here, Ryan, the least you could do is accept my help.”

“I don’t  _need_ your help getting laid, Zach. The 'least I could do' ends up with my foot up your bony ass.”

“Kinky.”

“Zach, I swear to god,” he said, voice mildly threatening as he chucked a pillow at his friend.

“Okay, okay,” he conceded, hands up in a gesture of surrender. Ryan didn’t buy it. “All I’m saying is that Ned has a soccer game that you totally don’t need to go to and this phone number will be conveniently at your service in case you accidentally dial it.”

Ryan snatched the slip of paper from Zach, an unidentifiable string of numbers scrawled in pen. He almost crumpled it up, deciding against it by some bizzare instinct, but shot his roommate a suspicious look.

“What is this? Look, if you’re trying to set me up with one of Maggie’s friends—“

“It’s not anything to do with Maggie,” Zach said quickly. “Or Ariel. It’s just...you’ll see.”

“What do you mean  *’you’ll see?’*  Zach?” he called after him, watching him slip into the adjoining kitchen and towards the front door, Ned already clad in his jersey and cleats.

“Try not to fall in love,” Zach winked, offering no further explanation in return, eyes glittering even from across the room with something like mischief.

Ryan watched dumbfounded as his roommates slipped out the door, the hinges creaking softly behind them, leaving him alone in the apartment with nothing but the sports announcer’s brash voice and his own thoughts to fill the room.

He sighed. The bachelor life wasn’t as glamorous as reality TV made it out to be.

*

It was all of two hours before Ryan finally caved.

Having grown tired of watching Kobe sink balls into the net, long, nimble legs soaring through the air, Ryan had muted the TV, attention refocused on the small slip of paper glaring back at him from the coffee table.  The phone looked almost accusatory as his finger hovered over the green icon, grey keys peering back at him tauntingly.

_ You gonna do it, Ryan? Or are you gonna wuss out? _

_This is bullshit_ ,  he hissed back. _F_ _ or all I know, Zach left me with some rando’s address and he’ll get a kick out of the whole thing. I’m not calling the damn number. _

He slumped back in the chair, setting his phone face-down on the tattered cushions, the soft blue glow of the screen doing nothing to subvert that stubborn curiosity poking at his mind.

Like a kid left unattended with the cookie jar, the very fact Ryan was not supposed to take the bait only made the prospect of it that much more delicious, and he squirmed in his seat, eyes flickering to the piece of paper once again. He sighed. It _looked_ innocuous enough, though Ryan didn’t quite know what a sketchy phone number would look like if it were right before his eyes. It looked * legitimate * at the very least— the area code was correct, so no chances of accidentally getting charged for a long distance call to his phone bill. Leg bouncing restlessly in front of him, Ryan grabbed Zach’s laptop off the table, bypassing his login, (easy), and pausing his cursor over the search engine, (less easy.) Searching up weird shit— that’s what Google was for, right? It would be infinitely better to know what he was getting himself into before calling, and if it _was_ some weird shit, then, hey— at least it wouldn’t be in _his_ search history.

Throwing caution to the wind, Ryan brandished the slip of paper, eyes flicking from the digits to the keys of the computer as he transcribed the numbers, double-checking before tentatively pressing submit.

‘California Chat-Line’  the result popped up instantly, phone number listed surely beneath, along with wildly grammatically incorrect, lewd promises that made Ryan blush. _J_ _esus_ Christ, he thought, scrolling down the search results, met with nothing more but various knock-off sites, each one cornier than the last. Zach had directed him to a fucking _phone sex line._ There were probably worse things he could have done— set him up with the number of the ornery old man downstairs, trick him into texting one of those addresses that automatically charge you for sending a message.

But _still,_ Ryan was just barely out of a year-long relationship, did his friends really think he was that desperate to get laid that he would call some sex operator? 

_ Well, I’m not going to,  _ Ryan thought stubbornly.  _ I’m not going to take the bait and give Zach the satisfaction. _

He snapped the laptop shut, tossing it onto the nearby cushion, arms crossed over his chest, mouth fixed in an almost sulking pout as the Bucks advanced on the court, climbing up the scoreboard.  Ryan Bergara didn’t need a pity lay. He had his right hand that had served him well for many years long before he met Helen or the college wonder of drunken hookups. He had his own mind and _Playboy_ if he wanted, but he most _certainly_ did not need another person egging him on.

_ Sorry, Zach. Your little games aren’t gonna work on me. _

Foot tapping persistently at the carpeted living room floor, Ryan let out a sharp breath, eyes flickering back to the number, just mere inches away. 

_Would it really be so bad?_ his traitorous mind cajoled. _Zach wouldn’t even have to know and don’t you miss the sound of another person’s voice in your ear as you come?_

_No, shut up,_ he shot back at it, ignoring its coercing purrs. Ryan had no idea how his own body and mind could have entirely different agendas.  As if on cue, his cock gave a curious twitch in his shorts.

_ *Fuck.* _

With the begrudging attitude of a teenager dragging their little sibling to tee-ball practice, Ryan snatched his phone from the couch cushions, dialling the number before whatever remaining logical part of his brain could kick in and talk him out of it.  The regret was immediate as the phone buzzed lowly through the second ring, and Ryan would almost end the call before it got further, but if there was anything lamer than calling a phone sex line, it was  _ hanging up _ on a phone sex line.

So he stuck it out until the call went through, placing him in some sort of digital lobby, cheesy sensual jazz trilling over the speaker, along with a sultry female voice telling him to, _‘_ _please wait while we pair you up with one of our best operators,’_ and, ‘ _your pleasure awaits.’_

_ God, could this get any more cliché? _

The music went on for what felt like forever, and if Ryan really concentrated, he could almost imagine he was waiting on some customer service line for the DMV or something.

Almost.

The low, smooth voice crackling through the speaker broke the illusion.

“Hey, hot-stuff,” he purred. Wait—  _ he? _

Ryan hated to admit it, but for a solid minute, he was shocked into silence, lips not cooperating as he mustered some semblance of a response, brain firing off various intonations of,  _ what the fuck? _

_ And then God said: ‘let there be light.’ And let there be sixty complete seconds of silence over the phone sex line while Ryan sits like a clueless virgin. _

The guy—  (guy!) remained strikingly patient, and Ryan would almost be impressed if it hadn’t occurred to him that he probably got paid the longer this went on. Hell, he’d probably let Ryan splutter like a bumbling buffoon for an hour if he got the chance. He never did get to find out, however, because by some divine miracle, it was then that Ryan spontaneously remembered how to speak.

“You’re a dude,” he blurted out, mentally smacking himself upside the head.

_ Real smooth, Bergara. _

“I have to say, I’ve heard some weird opening lines, but that’s a first,” the man replied, voice annoyingly nonchalant. “And yep— I am. That’s me, a dude. Is that alright?”

Ryan opted to ignore the clearly mocking tone, the _‘dude’_ slipping off the guy’s tongue amusedly.

“I just...” he carded his hands through his hair, _Jesus, this was already a mess._ “I was expecting a girl.”

If the guy was offended, he didn’t let on, tone breezy and smooth as ever in his reply. “Kelsey’s on her break right now. Why, you got a problem with it?”

It wasn’t confrontational per se, even as Ryan felt a competitive flame spark inside of him at the remark. But it was almost teasing— * challenging .* As if the guy was just waiting for him to say yes and hang up, to ask what hours the female operator would be on and resolve to call back. Ryan had nothing to prove— he knew that. This idiot was just a phone sex operator trying to sleaze his way through his shift, used to dealing with all sorts of guys like him. But Ryan never was one to back down from a challenge. He lived in LA, for Christ’s sake, of course he wasn’t some bigot too concerned with his own fragile masculinity to admit he liked to fool around with guys once in awhile.

_ Sorry to break it to you, big guy. I’m not backing down. _

“No,” he said simply, shrugging before realizing the man couldn’t even see it. He bit his lip, “Do  _ you?” _

_ “ Nope, _ _”_ the guy said, popping the ‘p’ irritatingly, “you don’t get into this line of work being picky.”

Ryan rolled his eyes, “I’ll try not to take offense to that.”

“Take it however you want, baby." There was a pause on the other end of the line, speaker crackling as his voice dropped almost comically. “That’s what I’d do, you know. Take _you_ however I want. I could tell you all about it. What do ya say, sweet cheeks?"

He heard a slight creak, signalling that the guy must be leaning back in his chair— or maybe forwards. Ryan could almost see it, twiddling a pen between long fingertips, an infuriatingly casual look on his face, counting down the minutes until his next pay-check.  The annoyance that came with it was palpable and it was almost enough to dissuade the slight shudder that went through Ryan’s body at the proposition.

_ Almost. _

“Yeah, yeah,” he snorted. “You wish.”

“You know, usually customers are usually  eager to play along with that one.”

“I’m not...I’m not a _customer,_ ”  he huffed, eyes widening as he realized he kind of was— calling the line and going through all the motions of it. At least he hadn’t done anything _sex_ related. Not yet at least. “For it to be a customer, I’m pretty sure I’d have to buy something.”

“That’s definitely not true,” the man replied, exasperation evident in his voice. There was a soft sound over the other end of the line, as if he was running his hand across a stubbly cheek. “You’re clearly not an English major, so what are you? Business? You certainly have the ego of one."

“How the hell do you know I’m in college?” Ryan said, choosing to ignore the subtle jab. He wasn’t _that_ obviously inexperienced, right? A stubborn heat crept up his neck.

“Well, there’s three types of people who call phone sex lines; middle-aged divorcees, college students, and kids pulling a stupid prank. I came to the most logical conclusion, unless I was wrong?”

“Well, I’m not underage,” Ryan said immediately, suddenly feeling a bit indignant. This guy’s holier-than-thou personality was already getting under his skin. 

“Well, good. That makes this easier for the both of us. You still didn’t answer my question.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. The gall of this guy — traipsing around making orders as if he owned the place, entirely confident that he would follow. Ryan could practically _hear_ the smugness in his voice.

“I’m a film student,” he huffed out. “Third year.”

“Oh,  _ really?” _

Ryan rolled his eyes— what was this guy’s deal? “Yeah, you got a problem with that?” he said, subtly mocking his earlier words. 

“I just assumed you’d be in one of those fraternities. Kappa Sigma whatever the hell you call it.”

“It’s  _Delta Kappa_ , and I _am_ in a fraternity. That doesn’t...that doesn’t determine your major, you dick, I— stop laughing!”

Soft chuckles interrupted him, and alongside some barely-contained exhaustion with the man’s smugness, a warmer, curious feeling sunk in. _God, why did he have to have such a handsome laugh?_ Ryan wondered if the rest of him was handsome too.

“I guess I can’t be too hard on you, I’m a film major too. But I have a minor in history so that cancels it out.”

“That’s...not how it works.”

“Let me guess, you’re like to party. You call yourself a mixer but your drinks are shit. Your roommates are rowdy, and you don’t know the last time you washed your gym socks. Am I wrong?”

Ryan frowned, picking at the seam of his basketball shorts, casting a hesitant look down at his feet. _S on of a bitch._

“God, you’re absolutely insufferable, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Nah, they’re usually too preoccupied with...other things.”

“I find that hard to believe. At this rate I’m going to strangle you before I come.”

“Kinky. We can arrange that,” the man replied, nonplussed by Ryan’s threats, tone almost gleeful.

“You know what? Fuck you—“

“Shane,” the man supplied. “Figure you should know that now...just so you know who’s name to call out later.”

“That’s a hell of a bold assumption.”

“Well, enlighten me, then. _You_ were the one who called a phone sex line, but by all means, waste our time arguing, it makes me more money.”

Ryan blushed at the reminder — right. This was a phone sex line and Ryan was sitting on his roommates’ couch with his legs sprawled across the coffee table and some infuriating smooth-talking man on the other end of the line.

“My friends...they made me do this by the way. Left me the number, or whatever. I’m not...I’m not that desperate, you know.”

He crossed his arms over his chest protectively, huffing a little. _L_ _ iar, _ his brain said matter-of-factly. _Y_ _ ou knew what you were calling. _

“Let me guess; nasty breakup? Your friend gives you some chick’s number and you call because it’s a Friday night and you’ve got nothing better to do and you’re curious and now you’re here and wondering if its worth hanging up.”

“...Maybe,” Ryan said.  _ Jesus, how did the guy know all that? _

He must have said that last part out loud, because he heard a slight swishing sound, like the guy had shrugged on his end of the line. “Like I said, you’re not the first guy to call here.”

Ryan couldn’t exactly argue with that, as much as he wanted to. Anything to divert from that newly vulnerable, newly seen feeling washing over him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“But you’re still here,” the man stared matter-of-factly. “And that leads me to believe that a part of you. deep down, is curious about all this. Am I wrong?”

“Maybe you are.”

“Then hang up.”

“...Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Oh, baby, I think that’s _exactly_ what I should do,” the man purred. “Now you can either get back to whatever you were doing before this, or you could sit back, relax, and let me take care of you.”

Ryan bit his lip, and was still considering the options a few moments later when he was interrupted again.

“Up to you.”

_ Yeah, no shit, _ he huffed to himself.

Pros and cons. Pro: the guy was hot. He had that low, rich kind of voice that was pleasant to listen to, and electrifying to be on the receiving end of. Con: the guy was also a major dick-wad. Ryan giving in would just stroke his giant ego, wouldn’t it?  Then again, he was a phone sex operator, that was kind of his job, wasn’t it? He couldn’t exactly hold that against Ryan.  _But Zach could._ And there was another con. If anything, at this rate, Ryan would just be hanging up out of pure spite. It’s not like the idea of phone sex didn’t...appeal to him on some level. It’s not like it didn’t get him hot under the collar, thinking of some sliver-tongued stranger coaxing him to orgasm.

And fuck, there was another pro again.

A soft hum from the other end of the line spurred him along to make the decision. “Come on, baby,” the man  cooed. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

_ *Goddammit.* _

“You’re just trying to rack up more money,” he huffed, but clearly conceded. He knew the man could tell from the smug intonation of his voice.

“You got me there. You got a name, sweetheart?”

Ryan shivered at the pleasantries, the slightly mocking tone to his voice doing nothing to quell the warmth sparking in his belly.

“Mhm, not givin’ it to you,” he said, partly just to defy him. The other, less important half was that him saying Ryan’s name felt too personal...too real.

If he was offended, he didn’t show it, offering a soft chuckle and not pressing the matter any further like Ryan expected him to do.

“Guess I’ll just refer to you as baby,  _ baby .” _

It shouldn’t sound as nice as it did rolling off the man’s tongue, but he didn’t need to know that. That was between Ryan and the pillow he was abusing under his white-knuckle grip. His cock gave a curious twitch against his thigh.

“Such a brat,” he teased. “So tell me, sweetheart. You hard in those flimsy shorts yet?”

Ryan cast a quick glance down at his lap. The front of his shorts weren’t yet tented, the only indication of his blooming curiosity the slight jerk against his inner thigh. He breathed a silent sigh of relief. _A_ _ t least he still had some of his dignity.  _ Emboldened by the small reassurance, he reclined in his seat slightly, nursing the phone in the crook of his neck and shoulder, free hand tracing aimless patterns across his knee.

“It’s gonna take more than that to get me going.”

“Is it now?” the man said, voice lilting and delighted, as if he wasn’t used to a bit of resistance and he was liking the introduction of it. “That’s good. The longer, the better, in more ways than one, if you know what I mean.”

Ryan rolled his eyes, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that bragging about your dick usually isn’t a good sign?”

“I don’t know, baby. Did anyone ever tell you that _brats_ don’t get what they want?”

The man’s voice was impossibly casual, as if he was making conversation about the weather and not flipping Ryan’s world upside down. He let out a startled breath, feeling another twitch in his shorts, starting to fill out the material readily. 

_Fuck._

It was a quiet wisp of air — hardly above a whisper and something that could easily be missed. But of course, he noticed it.  _ Son of a bitch. _

“Oh? You like that?”

It wasn’t so much of a question than a statement, and if Ryan wasn’t so embarrassed, he might have bit back with a scathing comment of his own. But he just sat frozen, the cool glass of his phone nestled against the stubble of his cheek.

“You like it when I boss you around a bit?” the man asked, cajoling him into a response. “You like it when I’m a little mean to you?”

Flirting with this guy was like Ryan had never known before; it was like a game of cat and mouse, and Ryan felt impossibly small in all the right ways that _should_ feel wrong. It was exhilarating and breathless and verging on the side of humiliating and Ryan _liked_ it.

“I’d like it if you shut up,” he grumbled, but snaked a hand down to the waistband of his shorts, toying with the drawstrings.

“Mhm, I don’t think so. If that were true you would have hung up by now, but nice try, brat.”

He was quiet for a minute, the silence almost thoughtful, Ryan inching the elastic waistband of his shorts slowly down his abdomen, stopping just at the curve of his hips as he spoke again.

“You wanna know what I would do if I were there?” he said, not bothering to wait for a response before continuing. “I’d lay you down on the nearest surface and fuck the attitude right out of you.”

_ Jesus Christ. _

Ryan swelled between his legs, a heavy, hot weight settling against his thigh. The thin fabric of his basketball shorts canted upwards with the crudeness of a marooned ship; fervent, dizzying waves curling in the pit of his stomach, winding around his groin with the force of an earthquake’s tremor rippling through the ground.

“And then maybe,” he continued, a soft rustling sound following, (was he jerking off too? Was that allowed? Ryan’s mind was dizzy at the thought). 

“—If you were good, I’d let you suck me off.”

The fact that he phrased it like a reward only stoked the flame sputtering to life inside his loins. It was overconfident and cocky and so goddamn _infuriating,_ but— 

Ryan couldn’t help but wonder if there was some truth to his claims. If he really was as well-endowed as he made himself out to be. If on the other side of the line, he was lazily stroking himself through shorts of his own, erection long and hard pressed snug against his zipper. He thought of big hands wrapped around the length, slowly working himself up as if he had all the time in the world. He thought of that low, gravelly voice huffing out strained breaths, his narrow hips canting off the seat of his stupid office chair with an unbridled force, letting out a desperate, drawn-out moan over the receiver.

And that was all it took before Ryan was sold. Suddenly, his pride and unspoken bet with Zach were forgotten, the most important thing being that he got his hand around his dick and he got it _now._

_ “ God _ _,”_ he choked out, fingertips digging into the soft skin of his thighs, inching up towards the heat between his legs, skirting under the loose fabric of his shorts.

“Just Shane is fine,” the man teased, and if he wasn’t so horny, Ryan would have hung up on him just for that alone. 

“I can’t tell if I want to wrap my hands around your dick or your neck,” he grit out.

Shane gave a soft, amused laugh at this, “Oh yeah, baby. Talk dirty to me.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. Did this guy ever quit? He couldn’t imagine anyone putting up with this kind of preamble if they were in a rush to come. He wondered how many complaints he’d gotten thus far, and if he, himself would be filing one after.

_ You better fucking make me come. Your LinkedIn rating is on the line here, asshole. _

“That’s your job.”

“Can’t argue with that. You touching yourself?”

Ryan spluttered a bit at the avant-garde delivery, “I— you can’t just...you can’t just _ask_ that!”

“That’s not an answer.”

Ryan paused, hand stilled right above the place he wanted it most. Unwittingly, he realized he’d been waiting for instructions, waiting for _permission_. And wow, that was a heady thought.

“I— no. Not yet,” he stumbled. “Want to.”

Shane made an indistinct, pleased noise that sounded something like a hum. _“_ _ Good boy.” _

The purred praise had Ryan squirming in his seat, a fervent, needy ache radiating between his legs, a shiver running along his spine. He all but _preened_ at the admission, moaning softly against the cushion.

“You can,” the voice broke through his thoughts once again. “You can touch yourself.”

Ryan breathed a sigh of relief, almost yanking his shorts down around his ankles, propping one up on the coffee table, palm ghosting over the heat, pulse jumping under his skin in anticipation.

“ _Over_ your clothes,” he clarified, hearing the fabric rustle over the phone, and Ryan let out a frustrated whine that he would never admit to later. It would be so easy to lie and just play along as if he were listening, but for some bizarre reason, he found himself tugging them back up around his hips with a sigh.

“I want you to touch yourself. Not too fast. Just a little, just enough to get you worked up.”

He obeyed, eager to give his erection some of the attention it demanded. The relief was almost instant as his hand made contact with the front of his shorts, running along the line of his clothed cock, heel of his palm providing a delicious friction he couldn’t help but buck into.

“Atta boy,” the man cooed in his ear, and it should be the furthest thing from sexy, but for some wild, inexplicable reason, it just _was_.

Ryan rocked up into the heat of his palm a little, grinding against the solid weight. He squeezed his other hand in the cushions of the couch, phone balanced precariously between his shoulder and ear.

“What do you think about when you touch yourself?” Shane said, voice low and almost secretive, as if they were girls gossiping about their crush at a sleepover party.

Ryan groaned a little, trailing a finger down the line of his cock, coming to rest just at the head, thumb making smooth, even circles where it jutted out against the fabric.

“I think about someone pinning me down,” he started, voice thoughtful and breathless as he carried on his teasing ministrations. “Having their way with me. Bending me over and just...going to town.”

He shuddered at the thought, running the ridge of his thumb along the underside of the head, feeling a small wet spot beginning to seep through the thin fabric.

“You got your phone to your ear?” Shane said, so damn casual it was almost insulting. Here Ryan was, baring his heart and his dick, and the jerk was treating it like a damn PTA meeting. 

“Yes,” he practically snapped, hand stilling on his bulge as he set it at his side with an exasperated huff. “Why?”

“It’s just...muffled. Would hate for it to quiet your pretty little moans.”

_ Jesus, even when the guy was a prick he still managed to be hot. Ryan was beginning to see why he was in this line of work. _

Ryan grabbed the phone from the crook of his shoulder, slamming the speaker button with far more force than strictly necessary, balancing it precariously on the arm rest beside him.

“There. Happy?”

_ " Ecstatic, _ now tell me more about that fantasy of yours, I’m intrigued.”

Ryan rolled his eyes, “Is it a fantasy to want to get fucked hard and good?”

Shane’s voice was unwavering as always in his response, verging on almost teasing. “I don’t know, baby, you tell me.”

He grunted sharply, nylon of his shorts catching uncomfortably on the head of his cock tenting them, providing the slightest promise of much-needed friction. “God, I hate you.”

The man hummed, “You’re such a brat. If I were you, I’d  watch your mouth.”

Ryan shivered at his tone, low and threatening. He could practically _feel_ his steely gaze burning through him, even over the phone, and he squirmed a little in his seat. And yet there was something else beneath that heat — an unmistakable calmness; the voice of a man completely in control.

“And if I don’t?” he tested, almost breathless in anticipation, feeling very much like a kid mouthing off to his teacher.

“Then maybe I’ll make you cream your shorts like a fucking teenager instead of letting you take them off.”

The idea sent a full-body shiver through Ryan, and okay, fuck, that was a thought — painting the thin material of his shorts with white, whining into the couch cushion as Shane cooed teasing remarks in his ear.

He was grateful for the little privacy the phone call offered, and sat a few feet away from him, the speaker didn’t catch the slight gasp that fled his parted lips, or the way he bit back a moan.

“What makes you think I’ll listen to you?”

The reply was almost instant, low and husky, spilling over Ryan like candle wax, skin catching aflame with a mix of humiliation and intrigue, nerves firing to life under his skin.

“I know you would, because you like it when I boss you around, don’t you, baby?” his voice dropped slightly, until it was almost a whisper in the quiet room. “Because you’re my little  _ bitch.” _

Ryan choked out a strangled moan, nails digging crescent-like indents into the tender skin of his thighs. He was flushed from his neck to his ears, a feverish heat creeping down his chest.

Clumsily, he grabbed the hem of his snug white shirt, pulling it over his head and throwing it haphazardly across the room just in time to hear Shane’s next words.

“That’s right, baby. You gonna be good for me?”

_Fuck you,_ Ryan wanted to shoot back. Wanted to shove his hand down the front of his shorts and come right then and there within earshot of the phone, just to piss the guy off. 

But instead, a jarringly obedient, “Yes,” tumbled past his lips, earning a pleased hum in return.

“Good boy.”

A slight shuffling sound echoed over the line, followed by the characteristic squeak of an office chair. Ryan wondered if somewhere, bathed under those soft orange lights, if the man had his hand between his thighs, palm running slow circles over the erection straining his pants.

“Take off your shorts. Boxers stay on.”

Ryan huffed out a breath, obliging all too willingly, fingers hooking around the elastic waistband and leaving the fabric to pool at his ankles before falling to the ground.

“Maybe I’m a briefs guy, ever thought of that?”

“I don’t care if you’re wearing  _panties_ , the underwear stays on. Got it, brat?”

Ryan blanched . _Yeah, loud and clear, big guy. Jesus fucking Christ, this guy was going to be the end of him._

Shorts tossed aside with reckless abandon, Ryan’s growing arousal was even more painstakingly prominent, the curve of his cock pressed flush against the thin material of his boxer shorts, a sticky wetness seeping through, plastering it to his heated skin. 

“You in your boxers?” he clarified again, sounding almost thoughtful, as if he was trying to conjure up an image. Ryan blushed at the thought.

“Yeah,” he breathed, dick giving an insistent twitch in its confines, as if saying, * what’s the fucking hold-up?* 

Ryan was never one to deny himself quick and easy pleasure, and the delay was making him a little dizzy, not that he’d ever admit it and risk being dubbed a two-pump chump or anything. Word gets around on campus.

“I want you to touch yourself through them. I’m gonna tell you what I’d do to you if I were there, and you’re gonna listen. You can only rub, nothing else.”

Ryan’s mind raced to catch up, to decipher the command. He brought a hand down to the bulge experimentally, thumb running slow circles around the head. It was sloppy, ineffective, it was just like how Ryan would get off a girl—

_ Fuck. _

He was doing that on purpose too, wasn’t he?

He didn’t have time to dwell on the humiliation or the way his cock _ached_ at the realization, because then Shane’s voice was crackling over the speaker, slow and smooth as honey.

“Maybe if you behaved you wouldn’t have to get off like this,” he said almost chasteningly. “Maybe I’d touch you. Wrap my hand around your pretty little dick and make you come so hard you see stars.”

Ryan’s breath evaded him, lungs faltering like paper bags to the wind. He rubbed up against the crook of his hand, hips arching slightly off the cushions, eyes fluttering shut as he listened to Shane’s low hum.

“Mhm. On second thought, you haven’t earned it. I think I’d sit back and watch you get yourself off with just your hand. Listen to you whine and beg for  _ more.” _

“God, just _touch me already_ _,”_ he seethed, a hot line of precome dribbling past the head, balls drawn tight and high between his legs.

“Such a mouth on you,” Shane said, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Should make use of it. Get you down on your knees and fuck right into it until you gag.”

Ryan muffled a moan against the back of his palm, legs parting instinctively, a trickle of warmth coursing through his gut, pulsing and tight.

“God, just, just—“

“What’s the magic word?” he teased, and Ryan could honest to God _punch_ him.

_ " Please _ _,_ ” he finally grit out, eyes squeezed shut. He’d never wanted to come so much in his life.

“There it is. See, I knew you could be good.”

The reply was so patronizing and infuriating that Ryan fully intended to pick up the phone and give the bastard a piece of his mind. Only his hand was a little busy tugging off his soaked boxers as he finally got permission.

“Go ahead, baby. Take those boxers off for me.”

Ryan didn’t need to be told twice, the sticky fabric slung across the room with zero preamble, cock springing out of the confines of his boxers and slapping wetly across his abdomen. He moaned instinctively at the obscene sound and the feeling of cool air hitting theheated skin.

The head was red and leaking fervently, curved slightly against the dip of his stomach, twitching and demanding attention. Ryan’s hand trembled.

“Can I —“ he panted, “Can I touch? Please?”

“Good, you’re learning,” Shane said, sounding almost _pleased_. Ryan could hear the condescending grin in his voice. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Ryan shuddered in relief, wrapping his clammy hand around the base of his dick, sliding loosely upwards to graze the length, stopping at the crest to breach past the head, starting a slow stroke. 

He didn’t even need lube, so keyed-up that his own pre-come was enough to slick his cock, hand gliding along with ease, the wet, fervent sounds echoing in the room, slipping in between Ryan’s soft moans.

“Yeah, feel good, baby?” Shane said, and * fuck * his voice sounded strained, and about two octaves deeper than it had been before. “Bet I could fuck you better.”

_ ” Please _ _,”_ Ryan whined out, and he didn’t even know what he was asking for. For Shane to stop? For him to keep talking like that? For him to make good on his word and give Ryan what he so desperately craved?

Apparently the man drew his own conclusions, because then he was breathing raggedly into the phone, the distinct sound of a zipper being undone ringing out shrilly over the receiver.

“Yeah? You want that? Want me to push you onto the bed and flip you over and fuck you so hard you can’t even whine?”

_“God, yes,”_ he found his traitorous mouth saying, no longer caring about consequences or his reputation, only relieving that aching desire pooling in his gut.

He bucked up into that tight fist, fingers wrapped around his cock, slick movements bringing him closer and closer to ecstasy, a bead of sweat careening down his back as he arched off the couch, nearly asphyxiating at the hot, wet heat enveloping him.

He imagined Shane on his knees, wrapping his lips around Ryan’s dick, silver tongue sliding over the vein lining the underside, gaze challenging and smug on Ryan’s flushed face as he fucked into his mouth.

He made a high-pitched keening noise, eyes fluttering shut, if only to stop himself from coming right there and then.

“So desperate,” Shane cooed, sounding rapt, “so responsive, sweetheart. You sound like this all the time?”

“Please, please,” he panted, heat coiling desperately in his gut, squeezing his groin like a goddamn Chinese finger-trap. He was almost dizzy with the intensity of it all, the obscene sounds echoing through the room, the salty taste of sweat on his upper lip, the tight hole of his fist.

“Go ahead, baby. Come for me,” he said, and that was all Ryan needed to hear.

With three more thrusts, he pushed past the head, thumb encircling it as he bucked into the tight heat of his fist, letting out a pathetic whine as his orgasm ripped through him like a freight train, painting his knuckles with thick white stripes.

_ “ Oh _ _,”_ he moaned, collapsing against the couch, cock twitching in his palm, oversensitive and spent.

He panted hotly into the cushions, lolling his head to the side to face the phone, remembering the man still on the other line. His gut gave another hot tug, as if curious for a round two. He recalled the sound of pants shuffling over the speaker, the husky tone of Shane’s voice, as if he had gotten off on it too. 

The sudden urge to know if he was close too took to Ryan’s mind with an talismanic zeal, and he licked his lips, wiping his hand on the flushed, feverish skin of his thigh.

_ “ God, _ that was so fucking good, Shane. Jesus Christ, I—“

But the call had already ended, leaving Ryan to stare at a white screen, contacts glaring tauntingly back at him, the number filing itself into his recent call list. No sooner, the distinct sound of Ned’s car rolling clumsily into the driveway echoed from outside, muffler clunking as it veered down the road.  Ryan looked down at the sight before him, spread across the fabric of the couch, cock resting against his thigh, a lazy trail of come leaking between his legs. 

_ Fuck. _

Stumbling across the room to yank on his shorts, he positioned himself on the couch once again, feigning normalcy as the door swung open, Ned making a bee-line for the shower that Ryan would most certainly be paying a visit to right after.

“Home sweet home,” Zach said from the kitchen, striding into the adjoining living room.

Taking one look at Ryan’s flushed cheeks and wide eyes, phone number crumpled up beside him, he grinned knowingly, slapping him on the back.

“He shoots...and he  _scores.” _

Ryan blushed, shoving his hand off, “Shut up, Zach.”


	2. Deuces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Deuces- a tie score in which the player must score two consecutive points to win the game_

Shane placed the phone back on the hook, a low, staticky hum persisting for another few seconds before ceasing, enveloping the room in relative silence. They had their own cubicles, thick grey walls separating their desks and in part, muffling the commotion on the other end to give customers some semblance of privacy.

That, and also to grant you the privilege of not knowing what your colleagues sounded like in bed. It wasn’t the raunchy, corrupt job that people would assume it to be — there were no orgies or illicit affairs, and when you took away the sex part of it, it was just a regular office job with its own perks and grievances.  You weren’t allowed to get yourself off on call — unprofessionalism, their boss would shrug, nursing a staff room donut and coffee in his hands. But that rarely affected Shane in the slightest; most calls were insincere, fiddling a pen between his fingers as loud, obnoxious moans poured over the receiver. 

Of course, there were exceptions when he subtly palmed himself through his chinos, filing those sounds away in his brain for later that night.

But for the most part, it was a pretty standard job. He made a few friends, mainly Kelsey, who sat in the cubicle next to his, blonde hair trailing past her shoulders with the same deft wink of her brown eyes. Sometimes they talked, mostly in spare moments between calls, their shifts staggered to separate timelines, a small overlap granting them the occasional conversation.  It was a generally uneventful job, and many days Shane found himself bored at the desk, attention divided from the slick, racy sounds over the other end of the line. But it paid the bills for a struggling college student like him, and over time, he thought he was even _good_ at the job.

Whether or not it translated to his personal life was another matter on its own. Between classes and shifts, he hardly had time to maintain a social life, let alone a sexual one, and it had been a solid three months since the last time he tumbled into his room with another person in tow, unless you count his roommates Teej and Brent, which he didn’t.  Tossing his jean jacket over his arm, he slid out of the desk chair, tucking it under the lip of the desk as his joints gave a few loud pops, creaking in protest as he stretched, making his way through the precinct.  He gave three deft knocks on Kelsey’s cubicle as he passed by, shooting her a winning smile, which was returned by a playful wink, prompting a soft laugh out of him. It was nice to have work friends, made the day go by a little faster, and gave him something to think about on the way back to campus.

Sending his boss a nod, he slipped past the heavy glass doors of the office, shoulder protesting against the weight as he exited onto the sidewalk, baring his face to the sun for a brief moment, a contented sigh rumbling from his chest.

“Watch where you’re goin’, dickhead!” a cyclist interrupted him, whirring past Shane with a sharp gust of wind, spokes popping loudly as he flew down the street.

He rolled his eyes, in L.A, it seemed, there was no room for second thoughts. Shrugging away the thought, he started down the boulevard, palm trees forging the way.

*

“Hey, you got a pen?” a hushed female voice whispered, a narrow elbow biting him in the ribs, drawing his attention away from the lecture board.

He slid a spare pen out from his pocket, offering it to the petite woman beside him, curly hair bouncing on her shoulders as she grinned, plucking it triumphantly from his fingers. Pale blue still crept stubbornly up the strands, remnants of a dye job long since past, encroaching on the dark brown tone Shane had grown to recognize from a mile away.

“Irresponsible as always, Rubin,” he said, not unkindly, her dark eyes shimmering with a characteristic playfulness.

“Hey, who was the one who forgot the syllabus on the second day?”

Shane rolled his eyes, “Are you gonna keep reminding me of that? It was _one_ time.”

“I will as long as you keep holding out on me with your pens.”

“That’s different!” a nearby student glared at him, and he lowered his voice, leaning closer to Sara almost conspiratorially. “That’s different. You ask me for that every day.”

“A bad decision is a bad decision, whether you make it once or a thousand times. Doesn’t matter, Madej.”

He narrowed his eyes as she bit down on the pen cap, tapping her fingers across her notebook, feigning thoughtfulness. “I’m not sure I agree with that ideology.”

“Always gotta be the skeptic, huh?”

“I’m only skeptical of things that make no sense,” he huffed, purposefully ignoring the disbelieving noise uttered beside him. 

“Mr. Madej, is there something you’d like to share with the class?” the professor broke through his thoughts, a persistent heat creeping immediately up his neck at the rebuke.

He blanched, looking sidelong at Sara, who had trained her attention back on the material, doodling in the margins of the syllabus paper.  _ Son of a bitch, no help there.  _ He looked back at the wiry old man, sweater vest offending in its tartan pattern, eyes weaselly and appraising behind thin, metal framed glasses. He shook his head, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“No sir.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said, bird-like neck wobbling with his words as he turned back to the slideshow presentation. “I suggest you start paying attention, these classes don’t pay for themselves.”

_ Don’t I know it, _ Shane muttered to himself, ignoring the soft giggles radiating from the woman beside him and drawing his eyes back down to his notes.

*

“So what’s up with you today?” Sara asked chipperly, fresh latte in hand as they made their way down the street, setting their sights on lunch.

“What do you mean?” Shane asked, sending a suspicious look her way, hands tucked into the pockets of his chinos, flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows. 

A warm breeze had taken to the afternoon, and he was suddenly regretting the decision to leave his sunglasses at home.

“You’re walking with purpose. I haven’t seen you strutting around like this since that one time you grew out a beard and someone said you looked kinda like Jake Gyllenhaal.”

He shook his head, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sar.”

“Oh, sure you do,” she persisted, bumping elbows with him, nearly running him into the small patch of grass cutting through the concrete slabs of the sidewalk. 

She gave him a curious look, peering up at him, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. If she wasn’t nursing a styrofoam cup of coffee, Shane knew she would probably be tapping her chin like a puzzled detective. He flushed a little under her stare, nudging her away.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he huffed.

Like the sun breaking through the clouds, a small smile began to spread across her face, “Oh, I know what it is. You got laid, didn’t you?”

“Sara!” he admonished, pink tinging his cheeks, quickly heating up at the brash comment. He spared a quick glance around, but no one appeared to hear, nor care about the specificities of Shane’s sex life. He sighed, turning his gaze back to his exuberant friend.

“No, I didn’t get _laid._ Between classes and work, I hardly have time—“

“Oh. _Wait,"_ she grinned, eyes dancing with glee. “This is about work, isn’t it?”

Sara knew all about his day job — or night job, really, and held no qualms over it. With things like that, Shane supposed it was very much a ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’ kind of deal, and Sara had never been anything but supportive of it, if a bit teasing.  He should be thankful, but it was times like these that he wished she wasn’t so comfortable breaching that particular topic of Shane’s personal life.

“Who was he?” she said knowingly, pulling out the wooden stir-stick from her cup and licking the foam clean off, tongue darting out to catch the remnants on her lip.

“How do you know it was a he? Maybe it was a woman.”

“Well, was it?”

He looked away from her imploring gaze, “No.”

“Well, come on, who’s the special guy?” she cajoled, looking like the cat with the canary, as his mother would say. 

She was beaming from ear-to-ear, and if Shane didn’t know her as well as he did, he might almost pass it off as contentment that her friend had gotten some action. But there was no mistaking that mischievous twinkle in her eye, or the smirk twitching at her lips. Shane let out a huff of breath.

“First of all, it’s not special, it’s just a job. Second of all, he wouldn’t give me his name.”

“For real?” Sara’s interest seemed to be piqued by this small fact. “Do you think he was like, paranoid about it or something? That’s kind of weird. They normally give you their name, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” he frowned. “No, I don’t think he was _nervous_ about it. A little fickle, maybe. I think he was just trying to get a rise out of me or something,” he clenched his fist at his side a little, remembering the interaction.

_ God, how he wanted to just fuck the attitude right out of him. _

“And it seems like he succeeded,” Sara said playfully, noting the clench of his jaw, eyeing him over the rim of her cup.

“God, Sara, he was so hot,” he conceded with a ragged sigh, voice low and tight, so as not to attract the attention of any passer-byers. “He was such a fucking _brat_. We spent most of the time just bitching at each other, but then he just _listened._ I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

He shuddered, “Jesus, and when he came — the _sounds_ he was making were just, just —  fuck.”

“Woah, buddy, don’t keel over,” she laughed, placing a steadying hand on his arm. “Well, who knows. Maybe he’ll call back again.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he rolled his eyes, a surge of relief washing over him as the shop’s trellis came into view. “Now enough with the inquisition, I’m starving.”

“You’re paying,” she grinned up at him as the bells jingled overhead, glass door pivoting open on its hinges.

“You’re a menace, Sara Rubin.”

*

Ryan sat hunched in the pews of the lecture room, laptop open to a blank Word doc in front of him, screen glaringly white, taunting him to put the keyboard to use. At the front of the room, a greying woman was droning on, clicking through a particularly boring slideshow with a remote clasped in her bony hand.  He sighed into his palm, material of his grey sweater soft against his cheek. His Humanities course was his least favourite, and on days where coffee failed him, he often slept right through class.  Not today, however. Try as he might to focus on the lesson, his mind whirred ahead, insistent on broaching topics that were not entirely fitting for eleven A.M. 

“For millennia, sexuality has inspired society. It has inspired art, language, the human psyche...” the professor said, tasteful depictions of nude figures flashing across the screen. “Human sexuality is one of the most powerful motivators...in the past, and in the present. It motivates our everyday life, sometimes in ways we don’t understand.”

Ryan swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling like someone had stuck a wad of cotton down his throat. His mouth was dry, tongue darting out to wet his lips. The low, promising voice of the phone sex operator slipped into his mind, a curious warmth coiling through his gut like an anchor dragging along the ocean floor.

_ “So desperate. So responsive, sweetheart. You sound like this all the time?”  _ the words rung in his ears, sultry and teasing.

The wet sounds of Ryan’s fist pushing past his slickened cock, aborted moans muffled against the couch cushions, hips snapping up to meet each thrust.

And then the question that had been nagging at Ryan’s mind all night, stubborn and protracted:  _ “You like it when I boss you around, don’t you, baby?” _

It was run-of-the-mill dirty talk. Ryan shouldn’t have expected anything less from a skeezy, overconfident phone sex operator in L.A, but the words still urged at some curious part of his hindbrain, demanding to be explored.  He _did_ like it when the guy — Shane, talked to him like that, all condescending and rude. It should have his fists curling at his sides, raring to deliver a solid right hook to the guy’s smug face, but it instead curled around the base of his cock, stroking him to what was easily the best orgasm of his life.  And he hadn’t even _touched_ him.

Ryan shivered, thinking about the things he could do if he was there in real life, if his words weren’t empty and those hands could wrap around his waist, his hips instead of that pen as he drove deep into Ryan, breath hot against his neck.  The sound of a binder clattering to the linoleum floor was enough to snap Ryan out of his thoughts, a blush high on his cheeks as he jumped at the loud popping sound ringing out through the room. Bracing a hand on his desk, he accidentally knocked over his pen, rolling under the auditorium seats and out of view.

“Fuck,” he muttered, reaching down to get it.

A pale hand beat him to it, fishing it out easily from the underbelly of the pews, offering it out through slim, nimble fingers. He followed the shape to the guy’s face, unassuming and serene, blue hair an odd juxtaposition to his otherwise zen demeanour.

“Here you go,” he said, not even flinching in the slightest as Ryan plucked the pen from his grip.

“Yeah, thanks,” he said slowly, eyeing him with some curiosity. The man’s dark eyes glittered from behind rounded glasses, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“No problem,” he said amicably, tapping his own pen against his notebook. He grinned, “Don’t you just love Humanities?”

Ryan turned back to the blank document in front of him, and the daunting slideshow whirring ahead on the projector screen. His stomach churned uneasily, seemingly as confused by Ryan’s bizarre thoughts of the operator as he was.

“Yeah,” he said drily, licking his lips. “It’s a blast.”

*

“So, how was it yesterday?”

Ryan stiffened at Zach’s words, knowing and lilted suspiciously with ardent intrigue. He stuffed his face with food, hoping his ceviche and bean burrito would hide the heat quickly creeping up his neck in a guilty stain.

“It was fine. Watched Kobe miss some hoops. Uh, 2014 wasn’t his year...bad season, y’know.”

Zach nodded, clearly not buying the ruse. “Uh-huh. And how was was the sex?”

Ryan nearly choked, hacking a few times before putting down his burrito, hands tightened on the corner of the table, knuckles painted white as he leaned forward, voice low, “It wasn’t _sex_ ... _foreplay_ doesn’t count as sex. Especially not when it’s over the phone.”

“Again, Ryan. I pity the girls you bring home.”

“Shut up, Zach,” he grumbled, eyes narrowed, brows creasing lines across his forehead as he glared at his roommate from across the table.

“Did you or did you not have the best nut you’ve had all month?” Zach continued, unaffected.

Ryan looked away, an almost petulant look crossing his face as his cheeks hollowed around the straw of his drink, eyes zeroed in on an irritated pigeon picking at a hunk of stale bread.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Are you done?” Ryan said, voice strained as it was hushed, all too aware of the gathering crowds as the college lunch-rush rose into fruition. 

Zach held up his hands in mock-surrender, nearly knocking over his smoothie in the process. “All I’m saying is it wouldn’t kill you to say ‘thank you, Zach. You’re the best.”

“I think I’ll just skip the middle-man and kill you, Kornfeld.”

“You would never,” Zach said through a mouthful of spinach, pointing his plastic salad fork at him. “Then Maggie would be a widow.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. Zach gets a girlfriend and suddenly he thinks she’s a cop-out to any sort of responsibility. Typical. “For all I know, she’s in on this.”

Zach shook his head, “I promise the only people screwing with your love life are you, and your basketball shorts.”

Ryan blanched, mouth running dry as he drew his eyes down to the thin material, remembering the way it had swelled the night before like a squatter had pitched a tent in them.  Groaning, Ryan retreated into the cover of his arms, nose burrowing in the crook of his elbow, blocking out the afternoon sun and Zach’s imploring gaze on his face. Zach gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“There, there, Bergara. I’m sure you’re not the only frat boy in L.A. going through a dry-spell.”

Ryan sighed.  _ He had to burn those fucking shorts. _

*

It was five past eight when the phone rang, vibrating in its cradle, nearly disturbing a small potted plant and pen holder seated on the desk. 

“Jesus, I’m getting it,” Shane muttered, just as much to himself as to whatever gods were in charge of the day-to-day annoyances inanimate objects posed.

On the third ring, he snared it by the handle, cursing lowly to himself as the old-fashioned ringlet cord wound around his hand. Dislodging his finger from the plastic coil, he brought it up to his mouth, tongue laving at the smarting pain.

“Hey, doll-face,” he purred into the phone, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the sound of his own overly-sultry voice.

It was very obviously phoney — it’s not like they were any more pleased to answer a call from a customer than anyone else working an office job, but it never seemed to matter much to his clients. He didn’t get it — how they could get off knowing that the operator was talking to dozens of other suckers like them every day.  But it wasn’t Shane’s place to question the semantics of his job, just to make money from it and do it well. So he played up the act, wheels of his chair rolling casually across the ground as he situated himself in the corner of his cubicle, kicking up his legs on the desk like a pin-up model.

He was expecting one of the many regulars from the bizarre cast of characters he served every week. A breathy female voice of what was most likely a middle-aged woman long-since deprived of sex from her estranged husband. The low, gruff voice of a man that always came after the first five minutes. Maybe another prank caller, which seemed to becoming more and more virulent as of lately.

Not that Shane minded — it was far more entertaining to razz an over-confident teenager than to coerce some stranger into sexual release.

He certainly wasn’t expecting the familiar, annoyed voice of a man his age.

“Oh my god, _you_ again?” the guy bitched over the phone, and Shane visibly recoiled, knocking one of his long legs against the side of his desk, sending a sharp pain rocketing up his shin.

_ Fuck, _ he mouthed, rubbing at the quickly-bruising skin, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear.

A quick wracking of his brain informed Shane that this was the same caller from yesterday, and something tight and inquisitive pooled in Shane’s gut.

“Well, it _is_ my job, baby.”

He could practically _hear_ the eye-roll over the phone. Shane wondered if he was always this bratty or if it was just when he was horny. He made a mental note to broach that subject later, and pushed the thought away.

“Yeah, but there’s other people working there. It’s not just you, right? I’m starting to think you’re just some weirdo in his basement jerking off to other people’s voice.”

Shane huffed out a laugh. Jesus, this guy was a firecracker. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think he got off on the bickering as much as he did on the actual sex talk.  “Nope. Just a standard office,” he said, pivoting a little on his chair, tapping a pen to his desk as his voice lowered, slipping into that smooth, deep cadence easily. “A regular office with dozens of desks I could fuck you over.”

Shane wasn’t blind to the slight shuddering breath let out by the man on the other end, and his mouth twitched up in an almost gleeful expression, elbows braced on the side of his desk.

“You wish,” he muttered, followed by a slight shuffling sound that told Shane _exactly_ what the guy was doing. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride.

“Yeah, you’re right. After our conversation last time, I think you need someone to teach you a lesson, fuck the attitude out of you, y’know?”

He reclined in his chair, lazily palming the front of his chinos out of eyesight of his coworkers. Just a few strokes over risen fabric before forcing his hand away, opting to rest it on the desk instead, where it drew absentminded patterns into the surface.

“I think you’d like that,” he mused, wetting his lips, lowering his voice almost conspiratorially. “Being bent over a desk, fingers gripping the edge as I fuck mine into your tight little hole.”

He revelled in the sharp breath crackling over the receiver, shifting a little in his chair as his dick twitched curiously against his thigh. “Or maybe...” he drawled, voice smooth and sure, even as his nerves sparked eagerly under his skin. “I’d fuck you for real with my cock...if you were good.” 

“Jesus,” the man cursed quietly, and Shane held back a chuckle. 

The job was really quite humorous, when you broke it down to its baser elements, but he had long since gotten used to holding that opinion to himself. Historically, people tended to take offense when you laughed at their bedroom talk. 

Figures.

He wasn’t laughing at the guy, per se. He’d had far too many interesting conversations with other characters for his attitude to even begin to seem odd to Shane. It was more amusement — how he expressed such blatant distaste for the whole ordeal and yet found himself calling back nonetheless, two days in a row.

Plus, it didn’t hurt that he had a really cute moan.

“Yeah, you like the sound of that, baby?” he purred, hearing the familiar repeated, soft sound on the other end, stroking a slow rhythm. He chose not to chastise the guy for it, instead letting his voice go low and rich. 

“Tell me,” he said casually, knowing that if the man were here with him right now, he’d have him sprawled across his lap, hips slotted together, his legs squeezed around his waist as Shane murmured lewd promises against the shell of his ear between searing kisses to his neck. “Have you ever fingered yourself before, honey?”

Usually Shane didn’t go that far with clients, unless they already had a toy deep inside them and it made the most sense to comment on the fact. That, and another interesting experience with a couple who simply wanted a third party to coach them through consummation.  That had certainly been a christening experience, and they left mutually satisfied. He still heard from them every few months on romantic holidays and a day Shane had come to realize was their anniversary.  But he never taught someone how to finger themselves — too much room for confusion, and the first time was usually more uncomfortable than sexy. Didn’t exactly leave much grounds for Shane to profit off of.

Luckily, it seemed as though if that were ever to happen, it wouldn’t be today, because the man let out a soft, “Yes.”

Shane didn’t know what he was expecting. It wasn’t like he knew the guy personally enough to make such assumptions either way, but the admission sent a shockwave through his system, nerves jumping alive, heartbeat hot and excited as it thrummed under his feverish skin, fingers worrying at the top button of his shirt.

_ Was it suddenly ten degrees warmer in the room? _

Feeling a bit like he himself was becoming just as affected as his client, he aired out the collar of his button-up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he restrained himself from panting into the receiver.

“Oh yeah?” he said, hoping his voice didn’t betray him. “You wanna show me how you like to be touched, baby?”

With phone sex, you have to take a few necessary creative liberties, seeing as you’re not actually there in person with whoever’s on the other end of the line. You learn to adapt rather quickly, and most of Shane’s clients just played along automatically, not much interested in arguing semantics when they had their fingers three inches inside of them. 

Surprisingly, this guy was no different, going almost jarringly complicit, contrary to his previous snipes. 

“Yeah,” he said, voice tight and breathy, “yeah, fuck, hold on. Let me —“

The distinct sound of him scrambling off the couch or bed rang out over the phone, and if he wasn’t mistaken, a low curse as he stubbed his toe on a nearby piece of furniture. Shane couldn’t hold back his laugh this time, not even as a low rustling met his ears, as if he was digging for something in a drawer or pocket.

“Fuck you,” he muttered, and Shane just laughed harder, some of his colleagues turning to look at him, Kelsey’s lips twitching into an inquisitive smile from across the room.

“You’re cute,” he said, realizing a little late that he sounded far too fond, and yet again, he was breaking standard protocol.

“Don’t call me cute,” was all he got in a grumbled response, followed by the sound of springs creaking as he climbed back onto wherever he was sitting, and the quiet click of a bottle popping open.

“Oh, but baby, you make it so hard. Is that lube you got?”

“No, it’s Bacardi. Yeah, what do you think it is?”

Shane grinned at the push-back, feeling a little more in his element now that the guy was bossy and uptight like the brat he’d coaxed to orgasm the day before. He thought he would sorely miss his attitude had he chosen to be obedient today, and he didn’t let himself linger on that realization, drawing his attention back to the task at hand.

“Mhm, watch your mouth,” he said, no real heat behind his words, flexing his hands around a coffee mug, taking a slow sip.

He made a displeased sound that told Shane he was very much considering arguing back, but apparently decided against in last minute in favour of getting himself off. 

It shouldn’t be as hot as it was.

He heard the low, wet sound of the lube being squirted out of the bottle, followed by the soft shuffling of shorts being shucked off and the unmistakable hiss of breath between clenched teeth.

He grinned. “Cold? You’re supposed to warm it up between your fingers a little, so it doesn’t feel like you’re being fucked by Frosty the Snowman’s frozen dick.”

The man let out an exasperated huff on the other end, but seemed to take the advice, fingers churning together with almost delicate strokes, sliding through the cool gel.

“Yeah, thanks. Does a ruined perception of beloved childhood characters come free with this kind of service?”

“Sometimes,” Shane hummed, gleeful at the bickering. “You do this often?”

“Often enough,” he grit out, a small, aborted groan pulling past his lips, synchronized with the wet sound of lube being dragged across soft skin. “Often enough to not need you to boss me around.”

“And yet...”

He smiled at the silence on the other end, knowing that he had won that small victory, the rightful status of the one in charge firmly planted to his name. He sat up a little straighter in his seat.

“Bet you’re tight,” he mused, more to himself than the man, letting his fantasies run wild, spilling unabashedly from his mouth with a kind lewdness only acceptable in very select settings. “Bet you gotta work yourself up for ages, just to slip one finger in.”

The man squeaked out a quiet ‘mph’ sound, letting out a shallow breath. Shane was equally as endeared as he was turned on at the little noises spilling out of his mouth, and god, what he wouldn’t give to see that show right before his eyes, to coax those sounds out of him himself.

“Tell me what you’re doing. Where are you, sweetheart?”

The response was delayed a moment, a soft _'a_ _ h' _ interrupting whatever he was going to say. “On the bed,” he managed out, voice already strained. It sent a hot jolt of arousal into the pit of Shane’s stomach, and he shifted a little in his seat. 

“On your front?” Shane asked quietly, wondering how he liked to take it — face down, ass up, or staring up at the man driving into him, fingernails scrabbling at their back, panting hotly into their neck.

“On my back,” he said. “Legs...legs on the bed. Oh,  _ fuck." _

Shane was almost dizzy at the mental image — the man’s spine pressed flush against the mattress, thighs taut and flexed, bracketing his trembling body. Cock leaking onto his stomach as he thrust two, three fingers deep into himself, Shane’s name on his lips.  His dick twitched in his chinos, a bead of precome dribbling over the head, wetting the fabric of his boxers, the drag of the material providing delicious friction, fanning the flame erupting low in his gut, flushing up his chest.

“How many fingers you got in you, baby?” he cooed, voice husky as he palmed himself through his pants, sucking a sharp breath between his teeth.

“One,” the man said between shaky breaths and contented moans.  _Yeah, definitely a guy who’s had some experience_ , Shane thought, hearing the lewd sounds and shivered. 

“You think you can handle two, sweetheart?”

“Fuck. Fuck, _yeah,_ " he said eagerly, the slick sounds of his fingers encircling the rim, breaching past it as he slipped his fingers through echoing over the speaker.

It took all of Shane’s self control to not come right there and then.

“Oh my god,” he all but whined, the sound of springs creaking creating a backdrop for his desperate pleas. _"Yes. Fuck."_

“Yeah, that feel good, baby? You like the feeling of being filled up?”

Shane was white-knuckling it on his office desk, a flush high on his cheeks as he ground innocuously against his free hand, phone pressed like a brand to his stubbled cheek.

“Curl your fingers, sweetheart. Yeah, like that. Go deep and tight and curl them up, trust me, baby.”

Well, maybe he _was_ coaching after all, but the man didn’t seem to mind it, if the high-pitched keen he let out was anything to go by. He practically sobbed at the movement, springs creaking in protest in a way that told Shane that his hips were canting off the bed, fucking back into the touch.

An aborted moan was choked out, nearly lost under the uneven breaths shuddering past his parted lips, “Oh my god, please, please—“

“Go ahead,” he said, voice wrecked, eyes fluttering shut at the ceaseless stream of whines and moans pouring over the speaker. “Come around your fingers, baby.”

And that was all the permission he seemed to need before he reached his release, the groan sounding almost ripped out of him, voice a high-pitched whine as he moaned, “Fuck.  Shane."

And then Shane was coming in his pants, nearly untouched, legs trembling like a live-wire where they were situated under his desk. The call ended with a click, and he practically slammed the phone back into its cradle, a ragged breath clawing its way out of his throat as he fisted his hands through his hair.

_ He was so fucked. _


	3. Full-Court Press

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Full-Court Press- A defensive tactic in which a team guards the opponents closely the full length of the court ; to give someone your full attention_

Ryan woke up the next morning feeling sore and guiltily satisfied. His phone lay sprawled across the mattress somewhere, face-down and drained of most of its battery. He fumbled for it, alarm blaring obnoxiously, nearly vibrating off the bed.  His fingers closed around it, glass jarringly cool against his fingertips, and turned his head to squint at the screen. The red power bar in the right hand side glared almost pointedly at him, as it to chastise him for last night’s hastiness.  Worse yet, it was already 7:45, meaning Ryan had less than twenty minutes before his first class of the day, and his phone gave one bleak wink before shutting off.

_ Fucking great. _

Hauling himself out of bed, he nearly tripped on a sheet snared around his ankle, cursing under his breath as he made a bee-line for the bathroom, taking possibly the least satisfying shower of his life before racing to the door, still pulling his pants up his hips as he made his way outside.

_One of these days, I’m gonna have my shit together,_ Ryan thought, pushing his way onto the campus bus, sitting down and wincing as a dull ache radiated up the backs of his thighs. _ But today is not that day._

*

Ryan was, predictably — late. He all but stumbled out of the bus, pushing past a crowd of disgruntled students to slide past the heavy glass doors of the campus, making quick, gruelling strides towards the lecture room.

He made the mistake of making eye contact with an overenthusiastic R.A. and was immediately given a pamphlet and long-winded speech about everything the campus has to offer, tottering off something about a Hawaii club before he managed to get free, his watch a sour reminder blinking up from his hand. He was already fifteen minutes late by the time he slipped past the doors of the auditorium, receiving nothing more than a disapproving look from his professor, thank god. He was panting and running on zero caffeine — the last thing Ryan needed was a public scolding on top of today’s minute failings.  Reiterating this small victory to himself, he scanned the pews, his usual spot taken already, class in bumper-to-bumper proximity all along the lines of seats. His hesitance was starting to attract stares; some sympathetic and some downright pitiful.

Swallowing nervously, he pushed his way past one of the rows, careful not to trip over anyone’s bags, legs winding around the Macbook chargers strewn haphazardly across the floor like gardener snakes. He looked around for an empty spot, eyeing one right at the back, veering sharply to the right. Ryan _liked _this class, and while he wasn’t known for being strictly punctual, he was rarely late to this particular lecture — usually * early *, if anything. So he had grown accustomed to sitting at a very specific spot, dead-centre in the room. That was the spot with the fastest internet and most power outlets, and provided a perfect view of the board, something Ryan greatly enjoyed, especially when it was reeling off old Hollywood film footage.

But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and Ryan was one second away from being barred from the class altogether, so he took the seat at the back, wincing at the jolt of pain as his ass collided with the unforgiving plastic covering. For a moment, he just sat there, heart thudding dizzyingly fast under his skin, breathing a sigh of relief he’d been holding in all through the rushed morning. He could probably fall asleep like this, sitting up with his eyes drooping shut, the warm palm of his hand lulling him into an easy slumber.

But then the guy beside him was leaning over, murmuring something to in his ear.

“Slacking off?” he said, and Ryan squinted at his head, which was admittedly well-proportioned to the rest of him — huge.

“Huh?”

The man nodded to the professor, “Real ball-breaker, huh?”

Ryan huffed out an unamused laugh, not keen on making conversation so early in the morning, and what a morning it had been.

“Yeah, well, it’s my fault. I slept in, so,” he trailed off ineloquently, eyeing the styrofoam cup on the other man’s desk with seething envy. “Didn’t even have time to grab a coffee.”

“Hm. Shame,” he said, bringing the cup to his lips, which was quickly twitching into a smile, eyes glittering as he took a pointed sip.

_ God, was the bastard actually teasing him? _

“ Yeah, whatever, man,” he grumbled. On any other day, he might even entertain the challenge, firing back something witty of his own. 

But his sleep-addled mind was enough to stir the growing annoyance for his meddling neighbour, and he opted to ignore him the rest of class, trying to focus his attention back on the retrieved film footage, stalling in black and white frames, etching out images of hooded carriages and horses trotting along dirt roads.  But of course, like any person worth ignoring, the guy simply would not let himself be ignored, leaning closer almost conspiratorially, voice low and smooth.

“Tell you what. If I make this shot, I’ll buy you a coffee after class.”

Ryan narrowed his eyes, following his gaze to see a sheet of paper crumpled in his hand, poised out towards the garbage can a few feet away. “What? Why? What kind of coffee?”

The man aimed his arm back, tossing the paper ball towards the basket, missing it scarce of an inch, tumbling under a row of seats. He shrugged, narrow shoulders nearly touching his ears, where soft brown hair curled at the nape of his neck.

“Guess we’ll never know,” he said smugly, retreating back into his own space and turning his attention back to the board.

Ryan frowned, genuinely confused by the interaction, and feeling somehow offended. Sure, he didn’t need someone to buy him coffee — he could do that himself. But the idea of losing a prize wasn’t the most contented thought, even if it came from a game he hadn’t agreed to play in the first place. He  sat back in his seat with a huff, eyes darting over the glare at the side of the man’s face, and for the first time, getting a good look at him.

He was tall — even folded into his seat, long legs knocking against Ryan’s irritatingly as they slid under the desk. He had light brown hair, falling over the top of his forehead in an unstyled, tousled fashion, like he’d just woken up. But it somehow worked on him, Ryan thought begrudgingly.  Stubble lined his cheeks and upper lip, not quite a beard, but certainly not shy of it. Three days without shaving and it could probably be seen to fruition. He had a long, angular nose to match the rest of his features, and slim, slender fingers wrapped around the base of his cup, one hand tapping out an absentminded beat on the desk.  His flannel shirt was slightly undone at the top, revealing a small expanse of pale skin, collar tucked around his narrow shoulders.

He was actually attractive, as much as Ryan hated to admit it, and if he wasn’t such a dick, he would maybe even like the guy. But that was neither here nor there, Ryan decided as he shot him another infuriating grin.

_ The last thing I need right now is another thorn in my side. Zach is more than enough, _ he thought to himself, prying his eyes away to focus on the projector screen.

But even as he watched, he couldn’t help but steal glances at the man beside him, wondering why he seemed oddly familiar.

*

After six hours of painstakingly slow classes, all Shane wanted to do was throw himself under the stream of a piping hot shower until his skin was warm and pink to his chest, and then pass out in front of an old horror flick.

But reality demanded more than fantasy and was often cruel in its restrictions, and so he found himself trudging down the boulevard, thin flannel shirt doing nothing to shield him from the heavy downpour outside.  Shaking off like a dog padding out of a pond, Shane wiped a stray raindrop from the tip of his nose, hand worrying at the nape of his neck, where his hair was plastered cooly against the skin. He shivered slightly, cursing the office’s excellent A.C. system as he made his way towards his desk, stifling a yawn. 

There wasn’t so much manual work involved as some of the other part-time jobs peddled by campus guides, but the fortitude it takes to sound sexy for the entirety of four hour shifts was an oddly gruelling task.  He had to sell it — act like he was deep in the throes of passion when he was really just one prolonged blink away from falling asleep at his desk. Of course, there were exceptions, like the man Shane had talked to just the other day, and the day before that.  Those were moments where he really liked his job — getting to be a part of those intensely intimate moments with strangers, leading them to release, taking them apart with purred words and teasing remarks. 

But they were few and far between, and oftentimes, Shane found himself wishing he’d just chosen to be a barista instead. Like now, as he shucked off his sodden coat, running a hand through rain-tacked hair.

_ Why didn’t I just apply to Starbucks? I fit the hipster demographic well enough. At least that’s a job you can tell your mother about without bursting into flames beneath her stare. _

Sighing, he trudged over to his desk, resting his head against the loose papers there, disrupting slightly under the soft air of his breath. A familiar manicured hand was tapping at his shoulder, and he rose up to trail his eyes up to the face it belonged to.

“Hey, Kels,” he said, yawning as he scrubbed a hand over his jaw, stubble scratching ticklishly against the skin of his palm.

“Hey, you,” she said teasingly, plopping herself on the edge of his desk, fashionable thigh-high boots clicking at the heel as she stared down at him, swinging her legs. “Long day?”

Shane let out a huff of breath, laughing a little, tired and soft as it rumbled soundlessly in his chest. “Yeah, you have no idea. Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t just take that job at Starbucks when I had the chance.”

Kelsey’s smile curled up under red lipstick, platinum blonde hair bouncing on her shoulders. “Making frappucinos in a green apron for some snotty kids? No thanks. I’d say we’re the lucky ones.”

Shane snorted. “Well, I’ve got a closeted hick on the other line just waiting for his daily jerk-off session, so stay for that and then tell me how lucky you feel.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not _all_ bad,” she cajoled, eyebrows wiggling in a way Shane knew meant trouble. “You sounded pretty happy talking to that guy yesterday.” She gave him an appraising look, a smirk flickering over his lips. “And from the sounds of it, he was pretty happy too.”

Shane blushed, wondering how many of his colleagues had overheard their interactions, if they had noticed Shane’s hand snaking down to palm the front his chinos, the way his lip had slipped between his teeth as he shuddered with an orgasm of his own, stumbling up to the staff washrooms like a cripple.

“It’s just business,” he said, avoiding her imploring stare before realizing it only affirmed her beliefs. He forced himself to meet her in the eye, “It’s just business, Kels. That’s my job.”

“Right. Well, I haven’t heard anyone use ‘baby’ that much since _Austin Powers_ first came out.”

Shane flushed, “He wouldn’t tell me his name!”

“And if he did?”

He opened his mouth to bite back with a response, but found himself unsure of what to say. Because maybe Kelsey was right, not that he’d ever admit it in a million years. Luckily, he didn’t have to, because then his boss was calling him from across the room.

“Madej! Call on line six for you!”

Sighing gruffly, he pressed the grey button on the receiver, and as Kelsey slipped off the desk, striding out of a view with a knowing look on her face, he answered the call, slipping into the persona once again.

“Hey, hot stuff. Wanna get fucked?”

*

When Ryan walked into class the next morning, he made a bee-line for his typical spot, blessedly open and free from college stragglers. He hurried over to the row, sighing contentedly and going to dig his laptop out of his bag.

At least this day was off to a promising start.

Then a wad of paper struck him in the back of the neck. “Ow!” he muttered, rubbing the skin there, the sharp pain dissolving as fast as it materialized. Slower to subside was the roiling irritation he felt as he spun around to identify the person who had thrown it.  The culprit didn’t even try to hide it, not a semblance of guilt on his face as he peered back. In fact, he looked almost accomplished, like that was his intention all along. The smile twitching at his lips only confirmed it, and Ryan glared daggers, ignoring the wave of his fingers in the universal ‘come here’ gesture.

_What,_ he mouthed, back aching at the sharp angle he had it turned at.

_Come here,_ he said back, gesturing madly at the empty seat beside him.

Ryan squinted at him, brows furrowed. _No._

Rolling his eyes, the guy held up a cup of coffee, looking at him pointedly, and that was all the encouragement Ryan needed before he was sidestepping the rest of the students in his row and making his way to the back of the class, settling in just as the professor strode into the room.

_Well, at least I’m not late this time, _ he thought, sending an exasperated look his seat mate’s way.

“What is this? Poison?” He asked, eyeing the cup suspiciously, as if it might kill him. 

Deciding that the thought of going another morning without coffee was infinitely more horrific than whatever drug could be in it, he took a tentative sip, glancing scrutinizingly at the man beside him, watching him drink.

He laughed, the sound low and almost boyishly cute, “More like bribery.”

Ryan eyed him over the rim of the cup, watching his gleeful face for any minute sign of deceit. “What kind of bribery,” he finally conceded, his curiosity getting the better of him, as if it often did.

“Partner up with me for the group project,” he stated, more a demand than an inquiry. That alone made Ryan want to shut him down, but he stayed quiet because,  _ group project? _

Hoping he didn’t look too baffled, he simply turned away, feigning disinterest as he sipped at his coffee.  _ Son of a bitch, it was just how he liked it too. _

“Why should I do that?”

The man pinned him with a knowing look that Ryan quickly decided he didn’t like. “Because I need someone experienced in directing and _you_ didn’t read the syllabus.”

Ryan scowled at him, his face twitching up into a grin, already knowing he got him. 

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know.”

He just smiled, turning to look at the projector booted up, professor making his way to the front of the class. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

*

Ryan didn’t seem to have much of a choice in the matter, the tall man practically at his heels the whole way out of the lecture room, soft hair bouncing off his forehead, punctuating every emphatic comment he made.

“Jesus, it’s like, nine AM, dude. Do you ever shut up?” he asked, not quite unkindly as he tossed his coffee cup in the garbage.

_ Kobe. _

If the man took any offense to his words, he didn’t let it show, shrugging his narrow shoulders, nearly dislodging the clear-rimmed glasses tucked into the front of his shirt. Ryan had yet to seem him wear them, and wondered if he even needed them at all or if they were just a fashion statement.  His hand instinctively went up to push his own glasses up the bridge of his nose before realizing he had his contact lenses in — a decision that left him with three less minutes to spare in the morning.  His eyes creaked in their sockets, still blinking away sleep, but the coffee had done its part to reanimate him, heart galloping along at an excited pace as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and looked sidelong at the newest thorn in his side.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’ in a way that seemed irritatingly familiar, though Ryan couldn’t attribute it to anyone specific, try as he might.

He frowned at the man beside him, wondering why he couldn’t get over that lingering feeling of _déjà vu._

_ No, I would remember meeting a seven foot tall bastard, _ he thought resolutely, winding through the linoleum floors of the campus grounds, the taller man pushing through the crowds like Moses parting the tide.

“I hate how people just —  _ move _ for you,” Ryan groused, more indignation lacing his voice than what was probably due credit.

“Hm? Oh yeah,” he laughed softly, “it’s my god-given right for being this tall. Makes up for all the ceilings I whack my head on.”

“Well, it is a giant target. Your head, I mean.”

The man pinned him with a look of mock-offense, but amusement tugged at his lips. “Wow. Rude.”

Ryan couldn’t help but roll his eyes, bumping shoulders with him as they squeezed down a narrow hallway, the taller man wiggling his eyebrows in a decidedly irksome way. “How tall are you anyway?”

“Six-four,” he said breezily, long legs making quick strides, as if to illustrate his point. Ryan had to run a little to keep up, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by the other man. “What are you?” he said, lips twitching into a half-smile as he gave him an appraising look. “Five feet?”

Ryan could feel his ears burn red, rounding on the man no sooner than the words had left his stupidly infuriating mouth. “I’m five foot _nine,"_ he griped, hating how he sounded more whiny than angry. “Which, by the way, is a perfectly normal height.”

He shot a distasteful look the man’s way, taking in his flannel shirt and the stubbled beard lining his jaw. “...Not my fault you come from a long line of Sasquatches.” 

The guy actually laughed at that, the sound easy and lilting, eyes crinkling in a way that would be almost endearing if not for his otherwise insufferable demeanour. It was quiet, and in-obnoxious, so unlike Ryan’s own — rowdy and genuine enough to attract the attention of anyone within a five mile radius.  But this seemed private, sincere. Like they were sharing something just between the two of them, turning his head to Ryan’s own like only he had the opportunity to see the grin splitting his face. 

It wasn’t unattractive at all.

“Sasquatch...that’s a new one.”

“Can’t believe no one beat me to it, what, with your plaid shirt and everything.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Wouldn’t that make me more of a lumberjack?”

“I think it makes you more like a colossal douchebag, actually,” he groused, and the man laughed again, the sound echoing throughout the hall.

*

They ended up at Ryan’s place, the man seated on the floor of his room, back flush against the wall, Ryan sprawled across his bed, tossing a small terrycloth basketball in the air.  His companion rolled his eyes, catching the ball mid-toss, examining it, unimpressed before hucking it to the other side of the room, ignoring Ryan’s grumbled protests.

“Hey!”

“We need to _work._ What do you normally do when you have a project?”

Ryan shrugged, rising upright, running a hand through his air, stopping to stretch his back before replying, “Dunno. Procrastinate. Do it the day before.”

The man looked downright abhorred at him, nose crinkling with distaste. “That’s a terrible method. How are you even passing?”

“It works for me,” Ryan said a bit defensively, crossing his arms over his chest, glaring up at him. “And _you_ were the one who asked me to be in a group with you.”

“Yeah, so be _in_ the group,” he said, hand wrapping around Ryan’s wrist and all but dragging him to the ground.

Ryan didn’t have enough time to collect his bearings, going down easily, stumbling onto the carpeted floor with an aborted squeak. The man sat back down, legs folding under him, bony knees poking through the seam of his jeans as he balanced a Macbook in his lap, an open Word document pulled up on a tab.

“So, what d’ya got?” he said, cracking his knuckles alarmingly loud, drumming them against the keypad of his laptop.

“Huh?” Ryan said dumbly, tearing his gaze away from the watch fastened over the man’s wrist, glass cover glinting charmingly in the soft lamplight.

“Ideas. For the project. You know, the reason I’m here. Jesus, man, you look like you’re gonna fall asleep.”

Ryan, truthfully, _was_ a bit tired. He’d fallen fast asleep after that explosive orgasm, but slept in fits, as if his nerves were too fired up to give into the heaviness of his toilworn limbs. But that wasn’t what was occupying his mind — eyes drawn to where the sleeve was cuffed at the man’s forearm, revealing lean muscle all the way to the tips of his long fingers, hand veiny and proportional to the rest of him.

Pushing away the thought, he shrugged. “Maybe you should stop boring me then.”

“Boring you with trying to salvage our grades? Yeah, I’m definitely the one at fault here.”

Tearing his gaze away, he put on what he hoped was a nonplussed expression, leaning on his hand, a small smile twitching at his lips. “Glad you’ve come to your senses.”

The man shook his head, a disbelieving huff of laughter falling between parted lips. “Alright, slacker. Get to work.”

Ryan grinned back, watching him shake his head again, the computer screen bathing him in an unnatural white glow. He thought maybe he hadn’t ended up with the worst partner in the world, smiling a little to himself before taking a breath.

“Alright, so here’s what I’m thinking—“

*

Surprisingly, it was possible for them to get along, voices intermingling like horses galloping down a cobbled road, the occasional interjection or suggestion steering them along. 

By the time the man stood up, slipping out of Ryan’s room and ambling towards the front door, they had three whole documents of planning and a decently good idea of what they were going to do.  He couldn’t help but feel gleeful as he ushered him down the hall, staring at the fine muscles of his back working through his thin shirt. The special kind of zeal that only came when you finally turned in an assignment you’d been slaving over for hours, sending it out into that ethernet where it was no longer your problem until midterm marks.  Of course, the project was far from over, but somehow it did nothing to deter the excitement bubbling up in Ryan’s chest — stoking it, if anything. Their idea was _good_ — way better than anything Ryan could have come up with on his own, and he was starting to feel a little glad that the big guy chose to pester him of all people.

Not that he would admit it, of course.

“Alright, well,” Ryan said awkwardly, clapping his hands together once, looking up at the man expectantly as they lingered at the front door. “Thanks, I guess.”

The taller man made a shocked noise in the back of his throat — an exaggerated gasp that had Ryan’s eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Is that a genuine thank you I hear?”

“Yeah yeah. Don’t let it get to your big head.”

The man smiled goofily, running one large hand through his hair, mussing it up as it fell back against his temples. Offhandedly, Ryan noted that he was probably due for a haircut, and frowned at the instinct to fix the cowlick at the crown of his head.

“Honestly, I don’t know how I went this long without hearing your sweet words. A tragedy.”

“Yeah, well, if you keep fucking around, you won’t ever hear them again.”

“You still need me for the project,” he reminded him, leaning against the doorjamb, dwarfing it almost comically.  _Jesus Christ, he was tall_.  “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for two more weeks.”

“And then I’ll never see you again.”

“And then you’ll never see me again,” he confirmed. “Unless you count the class we share together.”

“Nope. Gonna block you from my field of vision like that one episode of  _ Black Mirror .” _

“You wound me, asshat.”

“Oh, I’ll be up all night mulling over the guilt.”

“I’m sure you will,” he winked. “Try not to stay up too late, your punctuality needs some work— and don’t expect me to bring you a coffee tomorrow.”

And with that, he slipped through the door, narrow shoulders bouncing as he made his way down the stone steps of Ryan’s condo rental. Sending him one last goofy smile, he disappeared from view, stopping by a parked car and greeting the driver, clambering into the passenger seat.  Closing the door, Ryan shook his head, hearing the familiar yells of Zach and Ned playing PS4 in the other room. _Just two weeks, and he’d have one less thorn in his side._


	4. Loose Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Loose Ball- A ball that is alive but not in the possession of either team._

Shane made it fifteen minutes into his next shift before the phone rang. It was a blissful fifteen minutes, taking the liberty to scroll through mindless Twitter memes and shooting out a few texts to his brother Scott.

When the familiar trill of the phone rang out, he was almost tempted to ignore it. It would be so easy to let it vibrate in the telephone cradle for another minute until it ceased completely, offering Shane a temporary respite from his duties. Then he remembered he got paid but the hour, and that thought was quickly swept under the rug, wondering once again  _why_ _,_ for the love of god, he didn’t just get a cashier job.

“Hey there, sexy,” he purred into the receiver, the same internal groan heaving through him as it did most every time he did it.

“Hey, Shane,” a man’s voice said, gruff and hearty, followed by a repetition of the phrase in a female voice, this time, sounding a little further away, like she was elsewhere in the room.

The way this whole thing worked was that, like a standard office job, there was a secretary who could redirect calls to specific people in the precinct, forwarding it to a direct line, which you would answer. For the most part, the selection was random, unless a client specifically requests someone in particular.

That usually happened in the case of regulars, like the ones on the other end of the phone at that moment. Shane relaxed a little in his chair at the familiar voices.

“Oh hey, Mark,” he said, nodding instinctively before realizing the man couldn’t even see the gesture. He remembered the female voice over the line, adding, “Hello, Louise.”

“Hey, honey,” she said smoothly, slight southern accent an odd, but not unwelcome outlier in the cast of brash, L.A. personalities.

“I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. What’s the occasion? Birthday? Promotion?” he tapped a pen on his desk, wracking his brain to see if he was forgetting some major holiday.

“Well, actually, things have been tense lately,” Mark said slowly, as if easing into hot water, such as the way it often was when it came to relationship issues. “We haven’t...we haven’t been making the time for each other lately and figured this might help.”

Shane nodded, reclining in his chair, pen twirling between his fingers like he was a therapist gearing up to say something insightful. Generally speaking, it wasn’t common or encouraged to build close personal relationships with the clients, such as it was with any regular job.  But, customer service was important, and if Shane befriended a customer every once in a blue moon, it wasn’t that big of a deal. It was just good business.

“Well, I’m sure I can help to...loosen you up a little.”

“Oh, he’s good,” Louise said, voice hushed.

Shane’s lips twitched up in a grin, falling back into that easy role as he propped his feet up against the desk. “You know it, doll. Now get comfortable for me, will you? I’m about to rock your world.”

*

Twenty minutes later, the call had ended, a cacophony of moans and other mingled sounds of pleasure crackling over the phone, building in an impressive crescendo before dissolving into giggles, hurrying out respective ‘thank you’s before hanging up, tension apparently subsided.  The rest of the shift went by as it always did — gratingly slow, but he was lucky to have a scarcer amount of calls today, and it didn’t seem unreasonably long before the sun was beginning to melt over the horizon, jacket in hand as he strode alongside Kelsey towards the door.

“How was your day?” she asked, pulling out a clutch-sized metal flask from her purse, tossing Shane a wink as she took a swig.

“Oh, Kels, you naughty girl,” he teased, gratefully accepting it and grimacing at the taste. “What is this, moonshine?”

“Whiskey. Not my fault you’re a lightweight.”

Shane rolled his eyes, choosing not to comment on the jab. Kelsey could drink, and curse like a sailor, and has on many occasions put Shane’s alcohol tolerance to shame. This wasn’t an argument he could reasonably win.

“Well, I think I miraculously fucked a couple into repairing their marriage, so an accomplished day in my books,” he said wryly, taking another sip from the flask. “What about you?”

Kelsey shrugged, long beige coat swishing at the backs of her knees as she walked,. “Got a new caller. Happens every once in awhile, you know the drill. Seemed pretty keyed up.”

“Isn’t that standard protocol?”

“Not like that. It wasn’t a sexual kind of frustration, at least not entirely. Sounded like he had someone else on his mind.”

Shane nodded, shrugging slightly, turning his face to look at Kelsey. “That’s the job, I guess.” He bumped shoulders with her, “Don’t let some random stranger make you feel any less special.”

She gave him a playful shove. “What a smooth-talker. Save the charm for your clients, Romeo.”

He grinned, stress of the day already melting away at the easy banter between friends. “You’re telling me you don’t want to bed this lanky body?”

She didn’t answer, simply jarring him with a sharp knock of her shoulder, sending him nearly toppling onto someone’s lawn, laughing all the while. They walked like that for another block, exchanging griping remarks all the way, and as Shane turned down the boulevard towards his apartment, he couldn’t wipe the smile from his face.

*

Ryan awoke the next morning with the distinctive feeling that he had fucked up. Stale liquor burned at the back of his throat, stomach bubbling unpromisingly as he lay sprawled on his back, skin feverish and slick with sweat, mouth parched as the desert.

His phone lay a few feet away, partially obscured by the sea of sheets curled around it, rumpled, as if he’d tossed and turned throughout the night.  He groaned, pushing sleep from behind his eyes, tossing an arm over his face and revelling in the temporary respite it provided, dim and quiet, distracting from the nauseous hum wracking through his body.  Pale sunlight streamed through the window, blaring down on his face like a big red ‘fuck you’ sign, digging daggers into his bleary gaze. To add insult to injury, his alarm rose to the occasion, beeping obnoxiously, stubbornly silenced by the uncoordinated slap of his hand against the snooze button.

Burying his face in the pillow for three more minutes, Ryan finally peeled himself out from the sheets and hauled himself out of bed, making haste as his classmate’s gripes about punctuality rung in his ears.

He made it out of the house in record time, and only when he was sat with his face pressed up against the bus’ window did he allow himself to feel the slightest bit of pity for himself.

*

Ryan’s face was flush against the cool surface of the desk, eyes squeezed shut as he staved off the last remnants of a weak hangover. The headache was starting to recede from his mind, along with the drunken fog.  But along with it came the recount of the night before — a fact Ryan could willingly do without, and he let out a groan as his mind pieced together last night’s events.

By all accounts, it was a decent night. He had more or less flushed out a plan with his classmate — ambitious as he was irritating, for a project that Ryan was genuinely excited about. He had his daily fill of caffeine and stimulation, and then found himself reaching for the cheap boxed wine they bought for fuck-knows-what-reason.  It turns out cheap wine has a way of tapping into your emotions that a six-pack simply can’t swing, and before Ryan knew it, he was back on that sex line with his hand wrapped around his dick.

_“Hey, sexy,”_ the operator greeted him, and two realizations struck him right there and then, clambering past the slow fog of inebriation:

  1. The voice was female.
  2. The operator was decidedly not the man he had been speaking to before.



And then sneaking into his mind a bated breath later, like an black cat slinking down a shadowed alleyway came the third bombshell of the night:

3\. Ryan was hoping Shane in particular would pick up.

The steely silence that followed incubated the mild panic barreling through Ryan’s mind, and also a confused reaction on the operator’s part.  Realizing it probably seemed strikingly bizarre that he hadn’t said anything, he went to hang up, finger hovering over the keypad, but instead, for reasons beyond him, found himself answering back.

“Hey.”

The woman seemed undeterred by the odd start, and Ryan took slight solace in the fact she had probably seen weirder things. “You wanna tell me what you want?” she purred, “I’m eager to please.”

_ What I want is another man’s hand over my cock and frankly, I don’t know how to reconcile that realization with my psyche when there’s a salacious women’s voice coaxing in my ears. _

But of course, he couldn’t say that, so he simply breathed out a, “Yeah,” and rucked his shorts down to his knees.

The sex was...subpar, to say the least, and at no fault of the operator, who was pulling out all the stops. In fact, the whole experience should have been * more * immersive, in retrospect, the girl, who’s name he hadn’t even bothered to learn, had made some alarmingly realistic moans, a slight suckling sound echoing over the receiver, to imitate some sort of sexual act. Typical — give girls an inch and they go the whole mile. She mewled right into Ryan’s ear, chanting praises like a litany, asking him for everything short of entire ownership of god’s green earth. By all means, it should have been a mind-blowing orgasm.

Ryan came weakly with a scowl across his lips, feeling more irritable than anything as come cooled across his abdomen. He hadn’t even bothered to thank the poor girl before hanging up, feeling like a class-A douche.

He fell asleep that night, curled into his blankets, a frown tugging at his lips as he wondered what the hell he’d gotten himself into. * It’s all Zach’s fault,* he thought bitterly, and fell into the most fitful sleep of his life, Shane’s voice a promising murmur in his ears. His face still burned with the embarrassment of it all, but whatever odds may have been stacked up against him today, he apparently still had some working in his favour. A large hand came down to clap his desk, startling him out of his arms and shooting up straight as a ramrod.

“What the hell, man?”

His partner just shrugged in that ambling way of his, nudging the cardboard cup closer, as if to tempt him. Instantly, the smell of coffee hit his nostrils, and he sat up a bit straighter, eyeing it with the hungry gaze of a lion spotting a gazelle.

“Coffee,” the man said unnecessarily, taking a seat beside him as students started to file into the room, collecting their bearings and looking no more put-together than Ryan. It was a minute comfort beyond his early-morning shame, one he gladly welcomed into his mind. “Another late night?”

Ryan looked at the side of the cup, where next to his order, a name was scrawled with black Sharpie against the matte expanse of white.

_ ‘ Asshole _ _,’_ the annotation read, a little smiley face sketches next to it. Ryan rolled his eyes.

“Really?”

The man gave a wry smile, running a hand through tousled hair, eyes tired and soft in the pale light. “Took a lot of convincing to get them to write that.”

“I’ll bet,” he said, pausing to take a sip, the warmth spreading through him instantly. “I thought you said you weren’t getting me coffee anymore? That it was just a ‘one time’ thing”

He was mostly teasing — just trying to rile the guy up a little in a way he had quickly realized to be extremely satisfying. Just a comment to razz him, to smugly call him out on his bluff and maybe earn bragging rights for a day.  But deep down in those shallow waters of their burgeoning camaraderie, some part of him was genuinely curious.  The man didn’t react with any semblance of embarrassment, instantly revealing his intentions to be far from friendly. It was reassuring, Ryan thought, taking another sip. He didn’t want his recently sworn rival pulling a fast one on him.

The bickering, he mulled over the dark brew, was delicious.

“Yeah, well I knew your dumbass would be a zombie again today, so I bent the rules a little. Sue me.”

“Well, well, Sasquatch,” he smiled over the rim of his cup, “are you going soft on me?”

He simply rolled his eyes, giving him a gentle shove, “In your dreams. Now drink up, I can’t have my partner sleeping on the job.”

*

Ryan should have accounted for his roommates being home. Really, he should have. But between extracurriculars and classes, and minimum-wage jobs, there was rarely a full house at eight o’clock on a Wednesday night.  Maybe if he had figured that Ned’s soccer game would be cancelled because of the lightning storm splitting the sky in two, he could have gone about his business perfectly fine, or asked the lumbering thorn in his side if they could go to _his_ house instead.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t had the foresight to make that decision, so instead of slipping easily through Ryan’s bedroom, they were being accosted at the door.

_“¿Quién es este?”_ Ryan’s friend, Curly, spoke up from the couch, arms stretched loosely around the cushions as he craned his neck to identify the newcomer.

“Uh, he’s uh —“ Ryan started, realizing that he didn’t, for the life of him, actually know his classmate’s name.

_Real stand-up move of you, Bergara,_ he chastened himself silently. _Y_ _o u get looped into a group project and talk to the guy for two days and you don’t even bother to learn who he is._

To be fair, the man hadn’t offered it either, and apparently wasn’t about to now, nodding casually in greeting and simply saying, “Sworn arch-enemy as of this morning, but I’m working on it.”

Ryan pinned him with an exasperated look, getting a goofy grin in return, his eyebrows nearly touching his hairline.

Curly laughed heartily, hand coming to rest over his broad chest as he stood up, chunky rings glinting in the light, twinkling as brightly as his dark eyes. 

_“¿ Gracioso y guapo? Me gusta.”_

Ryan rolled his eyes. Curly, being ever the flirt — too salacious for his own good, straight men be damned. His gaydar was irreparably broken, apparently, though his friend didn’t buy it, murmuring, “Everyone gets a piece of Curly,  _querido.”_

Ryan wasn’t so sure.

Curly’s meddling had attracted the attention of his other roommates, beginning to congregate in the living room like ants to an spilled ice cream cone. Ryan was really beginning to regret the open floor plan.

“Ryan, are you going to introduce us to your _pequeño novio_ or no?”

He blushed, glancing to where his hand was still wrapped around the man’s wrist, an effort to hurry him along that looked suspicious in ways he hadn’t thought of when it was just the two of them. And the way he was dragging him to his bedroom...

Ryan dropped his hand immediately feeling suddenly clammy as he wiped them on his shorts.

“No, to both of those things,” he said, hoping his embarrassment wasn’t as brazen and obvious on his face as it felt. “Never in a million years.”

He gestured clumsily to the man, who’s hands had returned to his pockets, looking effortlessly cool and rather amused, albeit baffled at the exchange.  _ The bastard. _

“Come on,” he said, starting to walk towards his room, snaring his wrist and giving it a sharp tug as he ambled along leisurely, chucking up his hand in a backwards wave to Ned and Zach. “Let’s  _go_."

“Woah, woah, hey man,” he laughed, holding his hands up in surrender as Ryan all but shoved him into his room. 

In Ryan’s hindbrain, he was half expecting to toss the man up against the door, plastering against him in a bruising kiss like he had done many times to every other person he’d dragged that hastily to his bedroom. The Pavlovian Response was a hell of a drug, and Ryan shook the thought away, opening the door on a second thought.

“Just...ignore them,” he muttered, puttering aimlessly around his room as he scrounged for his laptop and a piece of paper, mostly an excuse to hide his still-burning cheeks.

“Nice folk,” he said simply, in a way that made much more sense after he’d told Ryan he was from the Midwest. “At risk of sounding like an entitled white guy...he wasn’t talking about me, was he?”

Ryan blushed, making a point not to look into his eyes, noting the way dust motes floated suspended through the air, and how easy it was for humans to lie.

“No. Definitely not about you. Nope.”

“Right,” the man frowned, not looking entirely convinced. Ryan wasn’t exactly known for his stellar poker face; and he tended to wear his emotions — including shame, right on his sleeve. “Well, that’s a relief,” he said, looking anything but.

“They don’t have a word for 'Sasquatch' in Spanish,” Ryan said on a whim and a frantic attempt to dispel whatever odd tension had settled over the air.

It seemed to do the trick, because then the man was laughing, clapping a hand on his shoulder, and Ryan breathed a silent sigh of relief.

*

The rest of the night was fairly uneventful, the soft clicking of the taller man’s keyboard filling the otherwise stillness of the room, angular face bathed in the soft white glow of his computer screen, clear-framed glasses slipping down his nose.

Ryan watched him, attention long since diverged from his own screen, research notes sprawled around him like weeds as he sat propped against the side of his wooden bed frame.  The man plucked his glasses off his face, hands replacing them to scrub at his eyes, tired and soft as they turned back to Ryan. With his rumpled hair and too-long limbs sprawled across Ryan’s floor in every which way, he almost looked like a little kid waiting for his mom on a store bench. It was strangely endearing.

“Whaddya say we call it a night?” he had said, stifling a yawn as he rose his arms up above his head, stretching like an alley cat.

Ryan made no effort to argue, feeling his own eyes droop with the promise of sleep. “Yeah, sounds good to me. I don’t think I could scour the online encyclopedia for another minute without throttling you.”

“You mean you’re not already one minute away from throttling me at all times? I’m touched.”

“I never said that,” Ryan said, pulling himself to his feet and shooing the man towards the door.

“Ever hear the saying ‘don’t bite the hand that feeds you?’” he teased, arm resting across the doorframe, leaning down slightly to be eye-level with Ryan.  Yep. Infuriatingly tall. Ryan wanted to close-line him just to see those long legs topple over like a collapsable wooden toy.

“Ever hear the saying ‘get out of my house?’ ”

The man huffed out a laugh, “ _Touché_ , asshole.”

And with that, he left, Ryan surprised to find a grin lingering on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. _“¿Quién es este?”_ \- "Who is this?"
> 
> 2\. _“¿Gracioso y guapo? Me gusta.”_ \- "Handsome _and_ funny? I like." (jesus, 'me gusta' brought back strong 2014 flashbacks)
> 
> 3\. _"Querido"_ \- "Dear"
> 
> 4\. _"Pequeño novio"_ \- "Little boyfriend"


	5. Three-Point Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Three-Point Play- A made 2-point field goal in which the shooter was fouled, followed by a successful free-throw._

Cold wind whipped through the forest, winding around fir trees and whistling out into the blue night sky.It was eerie, Ryan thought, the way the foliage blotted out the stars in shadowed congregations, encroaching on it in a way that made you feel claustrophobic, even with dozens of miles of open space ahead.  Gravel roads tapered off to a small clearing, dusty and uneven from years of footprints, the faint pattern of shoe soles etched into the dirt. Thin cracks diverged outwards in spider-like fashion, closely resembling the webs strewn across the low-hanging branches of a nearby fir, gossamer shining with fresh rain.  Dark clouds passed overhead, moving slowly over the horizon and threatening downpour. A few yards away, a sprawling wheat field rustled in the breeze, dancing in the wind in a way that would almost be poetic if it weren’t for the electricity rippling through the air. In the darkness of the night, it only made Ryan shiver.

“Cold?” the taller man asked, interrupting his thoughts. 

“No,” Ryan lied through his teeth, which had since begun to chatter. “Your giant fucking head is shielding me from the wind.”

“Oh, har dee har har, yuck it up, Bergara. Keep it up and I’ll throw you to the ghosts.”

In their bizarre Mexican stalemate to not give the other the satisfaction of revealing themselves, they’d quickly taken a shining to adopting their last names as a greeting. First-name basis makes you friends. Ryan had no idea what last-name basis meant.

“So you admit they’re real!” Ryan said triumphantly, rubbing his arms for warmth inconspicuously.

He shook his head, huffing out a breath, which showed up as a wispy cloud in the cool night air.

“For the record, I don’t believe in any of this stuff, but I don’t doubt that there’s something weird about this place."

They looked out toward the stretch of land, eyeing a dilapidated red farmhouse just over the wheat fields, windmill churning slowly with the breeze, an odd creaking sound wailing out from its hinges. The paint was chipping, peeling at the boards, and if Ryan squinted, he could faintly make out the cracked panelling of a low window.  It looked like a scene straight out of a horror movie, so picturesquely horrifying that Ryan was half-expecting a shadowy figure to come ambling through the plains. But no figures stood etched out into the night besides the tall one beside him, looking more and more inviting by the minute as he stood there like a very warm, very animated tree.

“What, so like...you think the stories are true?” Ryan asked, biting his lip, hands shaking slightly where they were pressed against the hood of Madej’s car. “You think there might be ghosts or something there?”

The laugh barked out by the man was enough to have Ryan immediately on the defensive, an indignant blush rising to his cheeks. He honest to god slapped his knees, like he was out of a sitcom, and bared his gleeful face to the moonless sky, hair falling over his forehead in a way that was decidedly not attractive.

_"Oh, Ryan."_

“Don’t call me that. No fair if I don’t know your first name.”

The man waved him off with a dismissive hand, Ryan having no time to snipe about the way it — along with everything Madej did, offended his entire person — before he was speaking again, amusement evident in his voice.

“No. I was thinking more like squatters. Do you know what rent is like in L.A? Costs an arm and a leg. People set up camp anywhere, and they’re not usually the kinds of people you want to run into on a deserted road at—“ he checked his watch, “10 PM on a Wednesday night.”

Ryan was thinking of a snide response when something rustled through the brush, drawing his wide eyes over to the forest, an audible gasp fleeing his lips, white-knuckling it on the tin exterior of the beat-up car, heart pulsing in his throat.

“Hey, man, it’s okay,” his companionlaughed, settling a hand on his arm, an oddly comforting gesture despite the keyed up nerves firing to life under his skin, heart still ramming against his ribcage. “It’s just Mark. He’s scouting out the area.”

Sure enough, a sheepish-looking man clambered out from the foliage, camera in hand, flashlight glinting off the side of his face and beaming towards the car.

Ryan let out an audible sigh, shoulders dropping in relief, paying no mind to the amused look on the man’s face. He trembled slightly, the location winding his nerves up into a tight little ball, twisting and churning in the pit of his gut, exacerbated by the harsh wind winding around them.

“Jesus, you’re shaking like a leaf,” the taller man said almost incredulously, shucking off his jacket and forcing Ryan off of the hood of the car with a resolute tug on his shirt.

“You Californian lilies and your nonexistent tolerance for a bit of cold,” he griped, seemingly more to himself than Ryan as he draped it over his shoulders, hands clutching the open sides of it as he tugged it closer almost thoughtfully. “You couldn’t handle a Midwestern winter.”

He went on to talk about tornado sirens or something of the sort, but Ryan wasn’t listening, eyes glued to the side of his face and the jacket sleeves that dwarfed his own body, falling way past his palm, which twitched nervously against the warmth.

_ Well, that was new. _

“They’re deafening, it’s like the alarm from _The Purge_ . Are you even listening?”

No sooner had the words left the man’s mouth when the earth gave a resolute shudder, branches snapping as a sharp gust of wind was foisted upon the woods. A low, angry rumble shook the sky in two explosive coughs, like the Big Guy upstairs was aiming for a spare; and loud as a whip, lighting hurtled towards the field and split the horizon in two.  Ryan  _ yelped _ in a way he would surely be embarrassed about if he could process any thought beyond:  _ get me the hell out of here.  _ An icy panic set in, working its way into his pulse before curly hotly in his gut, a sickly, feverish heat ravaging him, feeling not unlike a child who had just wet the bed.

The man laughed —  _ laughed!"  _ And Ryan was beginning to realize that he found most horrifying experiences to be humorous. He looked almost tickled at the full-body shudder that wracked Ryan’s body, and laid a warm palm against the curve of his back. 

“Alright, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Ryan laughed a little, hoping Madej didn’t notice the way his voice waves or how he shrunk under the man’s touch.

“Leave? No way, man, we still got stuff to film.”

“There’s a thunderstorm! We’re in the middle of the woods in butt-fuck nowhere and we’re sitting on a tin car. You’re basically a lightning rod, asshole!”

“Then it will zap me first and you can say ‘I told you so,’ to my lifeless crisp of a body,” he said breezily, shining the flashlight pointedly in Ryan’s eyes, smiling as he recoiled. “But for the record, your tree excuse is bullshit. The woods is one of the safest places to be during a thunderstorm.”

Ryan frowned, “That doesn’t sound right.”

“Look it up if you want,” he shrugged, fleece sweater shifting to reveal his sharp collarbones and the pale expanse of his neck. With the flashlight beaming over it, Ryan could faintly make out a small freckle dotted along the side of it.

He pulled out his phone, cursing as ‘no service’ blared across the corner of the screen. It was like he planned it that way, Ryan tucking it back into his pockets with a huff.

“If I die, I’m going to haunt you forever,” he threatened, rising up from the hood of the car, tugging the worn denim jacket close.

The taller man shrugged, ambling away from the clearing, torchlight bobbing ahead with each casual sway of his arm. “Do your worst — ghosts aren’t real.”

Ryan rolled his eyes, shooting imaginary daggers into his lean back, picking up the pace slightly as the night seemed to close around him.

“Hey, wait up!”

*

“So, Ryan, you gonna tell us about the history of this place, or what?”

They were two miles inland, thick foliage boxing in the darkened sky. The moon, silvery and dim, cowered behind it, mum in the eerie stillness of the night. Somewhere above, a nightingale sang.

The taller man’s boots made obnoxious crunching sounds in the gravel, and Ryan turned to face him, a scowl on his lips.

“Don’t call me that,” he admonished, the mechanical arm ofthe gimbal angling the camera towards his face, red eye blinking back at him. “But yeah. Yeah, I guess I better should.”

They slowed their pace a little, and along with it their breaths, coming out in muffled little pants, the path taxing on their tired limbs. They had been walking for awhile now, and Ryan was dizzy thinking about how they would eventually have to make the trek back.  The minor annoyance was swiftly pushed aside to make room for fear as twigs snapped a few feet away, possibly from the camera crew, but possibly, Ryan gulped, not. It was nearly pitch black by this time, the forest all-encompassing and directionless around them. He quickly sunk into the research to distract his uneasy mind.  Wetting his lips, his hands curled around the torch in his hand, pale light bobbing briefly to the taller man’s face, inquisitive and entirely unaffected by the tempestuous clouds gathering overhead or the bizarre stillness of the night.

_ “It all started in one summer night in the year of 1958.” _

*

Ryan sunk into the story the way one would into a clawfoot tub; eyes shut and muscles tense as he waited for the hot water to envelope him and stake its claim on his body to do as it pleased.  Missing was the soft candlelight and inevitable feeling of ease. No, it seemed the further they moved into the woods, light grew more and more scarce, even the previous shy sliver of moonlight slipping soundlessly behind the trees, the dark blue sky looking like an endless sea and churning above them with the same aimlessness of one.  Each staggering footfall punctuated the uneasy beats of Ryan’s heart, writhing unsettled behind his ribs like a prisoner rattling the bars of his cell. If it weren’t for the body cam harness strapped to his chest, he thought it might just as well fall to his feet.  He peered down at his strange reflection, camera’s night vision etching out his face in muted greens, like he was looking down into a cup of tea.

The story was old as bones, nearly sixty years in the past, but no less unnerving. Some horrors, it seemed, only ripened with age. While stories of virtuous events sunk gracefully into the years like a fine wine, stories of terror seemed to only curdle.

Nancy Byrd was a girl of sixteen — bright eyed and vivacious, and if the tales held any truth to them, all too trusting. On a hot June evening, her and her boyfriend Judas had convened behind the fields of his dad’s farm, intentions off-colour for the conservative time, but widely innocent in the grander scope of things.  The only witnesses were the neighbours living just a couple dozen yards away, but all accounts of the two teenagers’ whereabouts came to a blank slate after 10:14 PM, roughly ten minutes before they disappeared, seemingly out of thin air, leaving nothing but Nancy’s lace bonnet behind.  Police patrolled the area for weeks following the incident, scouts placed at every side-street, every meandering path in hopes of spotting the young couple, to no avail. 

By mid-July, they were considered missing, and five years later, they were assumed dead, though town gossip didn’t allow them to rest peacefully, spreading virulent through the community and not ceasing until two decades later, when the last remaining family members of both families were dead, leaving no living offspring behind. Speculation, as it often did, seemed to die when the last living witness did, and residents of the small town were all too happy to forget.

“So they were just, chilling behind the wheat fields or something?” Madej said, shining a flashlight down the straw-like crops, spanning for miles eastward. 

“Yeah, I guess so. Kinda weird, huh?”

The taller man shrugged, “I mean, not really. They were teenagers, Bergara, what do you expect? Sneaking around at night, getting into all sorts of business, you get the picture.”

To punctuate his last point, he spun around, displaying his hunched back like a tom cat, stupidly large hands groping across the shirt’s material, making comical kissing sounds, hamming it up for Ryan and the camera alike.

If Ryan had a spray bottle, he would have drenched him with it. Instead, he settled for a light shove.

“Are you gonna take any of this seriously?” he huffed, camera panning in on his exasperated face like it was a trashy reality TV show and not a formal investigation they were shooting.

“Depends,” the man said wryly, turning back to him, hands poised on his narrow hips. “You gonna present something compelling?”

“Compel—“ Ryan spluttered, “How is this not compelling to you? Do you not find it a bit weird that two people can just vanish out of thin air?”

“Two _teenagers,_ you keep forgetting. Look, this place is like, what, fifty acres, at least. Lots of places to get conveniently lost in, especially if you know where you’re going.” He pinned Ryan with a knowing look, “Didn’t you say the boy— Judas, that his dad owned the property?”

Ryan bit his lip, a scowl written across his face, choosing not to respond. The man threw his hands up, like a Devil’s advocate throwing cheek.

“All I’m saying is it doesn’t prove anything. Maybe the girl gets pregnant, it’s a different time, and maybe her and Judas sneak off to elope or something. Maybe their parents have no interest in raising a bastard grandchild and omit helpful information from the police. It’s happened before.”

“But the bonnet,” Ryan said firmly, annoyance settling in easily with the tiredness.

“What about it?”

“Why would she just leave that, and parts of her dress lying behind if she went willingly? Wouldn’t that be more a sign of distress?”

“Define _distress."_

“What do you mean _'_ _define distress,’_ I—“

Madej cocked an eyebrow, leaning down infuriating, as if addressing a child. “When a man and a woman love each other very much—“

Ryan’s face burned with something like anger or maybe embarrassment, and a whole lot of it at that. Just, everything to do with this man, Ryan was quickly coming to realize, was a lot.

“Oh, fuck off,” he huffed, shoving him in the chest.

“I’m just saying, it could happen.”

“God, don’t give me that— don’t do that little shrug. I— you’re impossible,” he grumbled, knocking purposefully into his shoulder as he brushed past him. “Is it really so hard to believe that some creepy stuff went down here?”

The man shrugged, long legs granting him the ability to match Ryan’s fast strides with ease, the camera crew close behind, their respective body cams tucked against their chests, bobbing with each movement.

“If it has to do with anything paranormal, then yes, it is hard to believe.”

“You don’t believe in spirits, you don’t believe in cults. What do you believe in then?” Ryan griped, half of him genuinely curious. He could hardly imagine the man believing in anything with outright conviction, since all he’d seemed to do during the investigation so far was debunk any theory Ryan presented.

“Science, you should try it sometimes.”

Ryan shook his head, a disbelieving huff of breath slipping past his teeth as he looked at the man grinning beside him.

“Shut up, man.”

*

“So, what do you think it’s like?” the man said suddenly, breaking the silence that had passed over them, sleepy and thin against the backdrop of the night.

“What do I think what’s like?” He asked a little ditzily, not catching the amused smile twitching across Madej’s lips.

Out in the distance, a silo creaked, the metallic sound carrying through the wind. Ryan shuddered.

“Having sex in those wheat fields. What do you think it was like, you know, seeing as they were totally boning in there before everything went haywire.”

Ryan flushed red, spluttering ungracefully in response. It was said so brazenly, so out of left field that for a minute he simply could not muster up any words, evidently only stoking the glee bubbling up in the other man’s chest.

“What? Why would you—“

“That’s one hundred percent what they were doing. Teenagers find dumb places to have sex all the time! You’re telling me you’ve never gotten down and dirty in an abandoned field?”

Face still burning, Ryan cast a quick glance at the camera behind them, still rolling. Of _course_ He made a mental note to intercept the footage before Madej could — his professor didn’t need to hear about his elaborate sex life, and the taller man  _ certainly _ didn’t need to know the way Ryan blushed like a schoolgirl at the question.

“No!” he hissed, shooting him a look, resolve faltering for a second as he hesitated and then asked, “Have _you?"_

The man shook his head, face screwed up like he’d just bit into a lemon. “Nah, I’m from the Midwest, I knew better than to get into some hanky panky on someone’s private property. You know what they say — towns have eyes, but the countryside has ears.”

Ryan wrinkled his nose, “Was that— was that a fucking _you_ joke?”

“I’ll be here all night, folks.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Watch that language, young man. We’re in the presence of our Lord and Saviour, J.C.”

Ryan followed his slim pointer finger, a rosary draped across the awning of a small toolshed, red beads clicking in the wind. Sure enough, the blurry visage of Jesus was looking right back at them through a rusted cross, dangling precariously from a snagged eyelet.

“You know, the idea of tossing you into that lake over there is getting more and more appealing by the second.”

The taller man shrugged, reaching out to drag his thumb across the metallic crucifix, Ryan slapping his hand away.

“By all means, be my guest. Let’s see how easy it really is to disappear in a place like this, in the name of science,” he shoved his hands into his pockets, pinning Ryan with that infuriating smile he was really growing to scorn. “But if my bones suddenly go missing, it’s not because a ghost got me. It’s because the vultures came and picked me apart, and it would be * wonderful .”*

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a really weird dude?”

Madej just shrugged, that Devil-may-care look plastered across his face. “When you look like a seven foot tall muppet, you get used to it.”

Ryan opened his mouth to respond when a loud snapping sound echoed out like a shot through the wheat fields, body going rigid and cold as he stopped in his tracks.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear wha—“

Ryan held up a finger, eyes screwed shut as he trained his ear toward the sound. Realizing he was probably more vulnerable with one of his senses taken away, he shakily let his eyelids flutter open, squinting in the dark for any signs of movement within the sea of beige.  Night, so it seemed, had taken the town between its teeth, muted and low like the seamless bottom of the ocean, threateningly black. The only exception was the cutting headlights of stray cars, rolling down gravel roads, and the torch flickering hotly under Ryan’s clammy grip.

“Hate to break it to you, but I don’t hear anything.”

Ryan swung the flashlight towards him, the man stumbling back like a criminal under interrogation, hand coming up to shield the oppressive torchlight from blinding him. Ryan knew that through the shadows carving out his face, his eyes were wild and wide as saucers under the brows that threatened to touch his hairline.

“How did you not hear that? It was a clear sound of a branch snapping, or something. Did you guys get that on camer—“

He spun around to see the film crew missing, nothing but air in place of where their bodies once were. Heart ramming in his chest, he dizzily began to draw up conclusions.

_ Had they disappeared too? Reports of disappearances had ceased since the late nineties, but no one’s missing until someone goes missing, _ his mind babbled fervently.

As if sensing his thoughts, the man’s hand fell across his back, warm and solid, a laugh rumbling in his chest, so close Ryan could almost feel it.

“They went to go pack up the equipment, man, relax.”

His eyes were still wide, peering out over the pitch black horizon, the car headlights a dim beam of light in the sea of shadows. How long had he been meandering along that darkened road with just Madej at his side? 

_ ” Ryan," _ he said incredulously, still laughing, “it’s okay.”

Ryan shrugged off his hand, shooting daggers vaguely in his direction, tips of his ears tinged a blossoming red. 

“Just — just shut up.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, Ryan on high-alert, all systems of his body working double-time as hot, jittery nerves fired off beneath his skin. Fear did not rest, so much as it _writhed_ inside of him, clutching his heart in its wormy grip and crawling up his throat in a muffled whine.

“You really believe in all this, don’t you?” The taller man’s voice broke the silence, and as Ryan turned to look at him, he saw that he was staring almost appraisingly, as if he’d been doing it for the past few minutes.

Fighting back an embarrassed twinge at the feeling of being watched, Ryan shrugged, body cam harness constricting snugly across the muscles of his back.

“Yeah, I do. I believe in spirits or apparitions, whatever you wanna call it—“

“—Bullshit, in my case.”

Ryan just scowled in return. “Look, just. Whatever it is out here...something about it just doesn’t seem right. It’s got me all... _ keyed up." _

“Clearly,” the man said, voice deceptively smooth, and Ryan opened his mouth to ask him what he meant before following his gaze down his own body, to where he was very obviously _hard_ against the zipper of his jeans.

The flashlight beamed down across it like a goddamn spotlight, as if Ryan’s dick was the starring role in some play about the extensive humiliations of his life. He snatched Madej’s flashlight, face flushed pink as he clicked it off, submerging them into total darkness.

Only this time, it was welcome. Ryan wanted to slip into it and cool his burning cheeks against the gravel roads.

“How the hell am I supposed to see?” the taller man protested, hurrying to keep the pace with Ryan’s quick strides. “What if I fall into a ditch or something?”

_“Pity,”_ Ryan said drily, heartbeat still deafening in his ears, like his brain had grown a pulse.

“Look, adrenaline does weird things to people, it’s not. It’s not a big deal,” he placated, the bulge in Ryan’s jeans twitching almost guiltily at his words.

Ryan rounded on him so fast he nearly toppled over, hair flying wildly in the wind. He clicked on the flashlight, pointing it at his face, scarcely an inch between them as Madej reeled back.

“We are never talking about this, got it?”

For the pitiful sight it must have made with pink still streaking high across Ryan’s cheekbones, eyes twitchy and big as dinner-plates, Madej gave in, nodding mutely, hands still thrust out in surrender.

“Yep. Yep,” he said, wincing a little at Ryan’s deadly glare, as if challenging him to argue otherwise. “Got it.”

Miming zipping his lips and throwing away the imaginary key, he shut up, Ryan shaking his head with an exasperated huff as he turned back around, the taller man close on his heels.

They made the rest of the trek in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wouldn't be a buzzfeed unsolved fic without a fear boner


	6. Incidental Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Incidental Contact- Minor contact usually overlooked by officials._

Shane sat reclined on a  _ chaise lounge, _ the white fabric soft, almost plush beneath him. He let one long finger drag along the velvety surface, the other preoccupied with a wine glass, fingers closed around the stem as he brought it to his lips, painting them red.  There were few luxuries in his pedestrian life thus far, but sprawled across the cushions, copper trimming digging between the wings of his back, he thought that this might be one of them.

He cast his eyes to the window, pale sunlight beaming through the frosted glass, bathing the figures perched on the bed in a strange yellow glow. Shane watched the light catch the slick sheen glistening between their abdomens, dust motes dancing behind them. He swilled the rest of his glass and looked on, lazily.  Before him was a sight that would a nun fall to the floor, clutching either her heart or her panties. Carved out by the light was his two most loyal clients, wrapped up in each other not unlovingly, the man’s head leaning over the bedframe, sprawled astride the woman’s hips.

Their faces, even etched in pleasure, were a familiar and warm sight to him, and they beckoned him closer with dancing eyes.

“Angle your hips a bit— yeah,” Shane said, nodding appraisingly, the woman rutting up lazily into her husband, pressed against her bare chest, moaning softly into her neck, nose buried in shining gold hair. “Bite his neck a little, he likes that.”

The woman followed suit on his directions, mouthing hotly up the line of his throat, giving him a small swat on the hip before nudging him off, sitting up in bed and leaning over to retrieve a pack of cigarettes, the metal tip of the lighter winking in the early morning sun.  As the tip began to smoulder, she took a slow drag, topless chest heaving as she inhaled contentedly, running a hand through the man’s sweaty hair plastered to the back of his neck.

“Leaving so soon?” she asked, slight southern accent smooth and slow as honey as she watched him rise to his feet.

Shane started to button his shirt, tilting his neck up as his fingers nimbly tugged the collar close around his neck, undoing the top two buttons on a second thought, mussing up his hair.

“Believe it or not, I actually have other duties than pleasing you,” he teased, no bite in his voice as he rolled his sleeves up to the crook of his elbow, running a hand along the scruff of his beard, as his own face looked back at him in the mirror.

“Mmh. Shame,” she said sultrily, unbuckling the strap slipped over her hips and rolled onto her stomach, blue eyes twinkling, loose curls falling across her shoulders, a white wisp of smoke curling between her lips.

“Truly,” he humoured her, giving her a chaste peck on the cheek.

“You seem different today,” she said thoughtfully, thumb skirting across the curve of his jaw. “Preoccupied. Got something on your mind, honey?”

Shane laughed quietly, remembering Sara and Kelsey’s mini interrogation. “If I had a nickel every time a beautiful women has asked me that, I’d be a rich man. I’m starting to think you’re just trying to get into my head.”

“Why of course. All good intentions,” she purred.

“You’re wicked, Louise.”

“As the Devil.”

He looked at her, curvy as a cherub with pinkened cheeks to match, shaking his head. “Nowhere near it. But I know a coy smile when I see one.”

“I don’t doubt it in the slightest. You’re a real looker, honey. I’m sure you’re a real hit with the ladies, isn’t it so?”

Shane huffed out a laugh, offering a bemused smile in form of a parting. “You know me, couldn’t nail me down with a hammer if you tried.”

And with that, he took his leave, shoes clicking on the hardwood floor, fingers skirting down to drag along the back of their tabby cat, who let out a curious _‘_ _mrmp?'_ and bumped against his leg.

He reached for the door latch, well acquainted with it by now, and slipped out, ambling down the steps, fingers still preoccupied with the top button of his shirt. A neighbour nodded at him from across the shared strip of lawn, and Shane nodded back.  He shouldn’t feel so guilty — it wasn’t as though he was involved in a threesome with them, he never was. He was simply there to coach and observe, and as of lately, to find some companionship between busy day-to-day life that simply didn’t allow for much of his own.  But he was getting recognized, so it seemed, and that was enough to stir something uneasy in the pit of his stomach. He watched a parting couple kiss in the driveway, a small child cemented between them as the man left for work, and felt something like longing twinge in his chest.

_ Wouldn’t it be nice? _ he thought distantly, making his way to the car.  _ Wouldn’t it be nice to belong to one person and one person only, and for them to belong to you? _

Pushing aside the thought, he pulled the car into reverse, making off down the road. He was already going to be late.

*

_For legal reasons, Ryan absolutely did not have a fear kink._

It was perfectly normal for the body to have averse, sometimes bizarre reactions when in decidedly perilous situations, and if his blood had ran south instead of north, then it was just another embarrassing bodily choice out of his control. 

Besides, it wasn’t like it was a reoccurring thing. He had watched far too many horror movies to even fathom counting, all without incident, and the thought of traipsing back into those woods, night heady and oppressive around him was enough to make his lunch churn in his gut.  Fear-boners and ghosts were the least of his problems, he decided, tired eyes drooping as they stared into his coffee cup, exhaustion sinking into his bones like lead, a byproduct of the late night shoot that hadn’t ended until well past one.  Across from him, Madej made an exceedingly irritating hum, hunched over their research notes, finger tapping at his chin.

That. _That_ was a problem.

“Tell me: do you go out of your way to be the most annoying person I’ve ever met?”

Madej looked up, cocking an eyebrow, a bagel in hand as he looked down at Ryan from his pointed nose. “Got a lot of body to be annoying with,” he looked Ryan up and down. “You don’t, but you manage anyway.”

Ryan scowled, “Har de har har, jackass. And give me those, you’re spilling crumbs all over the evidence.”

The taller man obliged, sliding the papers across the desk, leaving fingerprints behind, another small grievance Ryan filed away in his mind in an overgrowing compartment labelled ‘Madej.’ He wasn’t sure he liked the man bouncing around his thoughts at all, and yet he kept finding sneakier and more infuriating ways to end up there anyways.

“Hate to break it to you, shorty, but this so called ‘evidence’ is just a bunch of bogus. Is this a Reddit thread?”

Ryan snatched the document away from him, “Don’t call me shorty, and this is compelling stuff, okay?”

The man leaned across the table, unfairly sultry for someone who just shoved a bagel halfway down his throat. A smile teased at his lips, “You could be my shorty.”

Ryan gaped for a moment before shoving him away, heat rising to his cheeks as he rolled his eyes, looking to the Heavens to gain some composure or guidance or anything to stop him from reaching across the table and smacking the guy right across his smug face.

“I could, except _hmm_ , everything about you.”

Madej didn’t seem deterred, encouraged by his reaction if anything. He sat back in his seat, feigning a wounded expression. “Why, I’m offended.”

“I’m crushed,” Ryan said dryly, the man laughing, the sound almost shocked out of him by the statement, offering an amused smile, leaning forward.

“Alright, Bergara. Tell me about those ghosts.”

Ryan’s heart flipped in his chest. Yeah, so definitely not a fear kink. But something much worse.

*

It was well past four by the time they left the library, laptop tucked under Madej’s arm, case file threatening to slip out of Ryan’s, their steps matched almost perfectly as they walked down the dormitory halls.

“So, you need me to come over later so we can finish up the research or has Reddit already done that for us?”

Ryan pinned him with an unamused look, “Droll.”

“I’m just saying,” Madej shrugged, the gesture moving his navy button-up across his chest, revealing a sliver of pale skin.

“I don’t think you ever know what you’re saying, here,” he stopped him, standing face-to-face, or rather, face-to-chest as Ryan reached out, seeming not by his own volition, hands closing around his shirt collar.  He blushed slightly, realizing the precarious situation he’d put himself in, knuckles brushing against the taller man’s collarbones, slipping the buttons undone. “You uh. You skipped a button,” he mumbled, tearing his hands away like they’d been scalded.

“Hm? Oh, thanks.”

Ryan hated how calm he sounded, jamming his hands in his pockets, if only to prevent them from wandering even further. They resumed the pace, students a blur around them as they rushed to their next classes. Ryan’s heart hammered in his chest.

“Wild night?” he finally said, nodding at Madej’s shirt, now righted.

There was a beat of silence, and when Ryan looked over, he was surprised to see the other man blushing, looking almost shy.

“More like morning,” he admitted, a soft pink flush dipping below the collar of his shirt, touching the tips of his ears.

“Oh,” Ryan said, nodding. Oddly enough, he didn’t particularly care for him to elaborate. “You know, you don’t have to come over tonight,” he said slowly, “I uh, think we’ve got enough evidence.”

“Oh yeah?” the man said, fixing an inquisitive gaze on the side of Ryan’s face, Ryan not daring to meet it in case he saw right through him.

“Yeah, I’ve...I’ve got some theories.”

Madej looked almost amused at this, face tipping into one of those challenging grins it always did whenever they were doing one of their bits.

“Have you now?” he paused a moment, as if carefully contemplating his next words. “Are they good theories?”

Ryan cast a sideways glance, taking in the endearing slant of his eyes, bemused expression twitching across his lips. “God, I hope so.”

The man nodded, “Well, let me know if you find anything * compelling .*”

There was laughter in his voice, but his gaze was imploring, as if dissecting a complicated puzzle with a missing piece. As if he was trying to figure out if they were still talking about the case at all.

As Ryan walked away, heart thrumming in his chest, he found himself wondering the same thing.

*

“I need to get laid.”

Zach looked up from the couch, nearly dropping the spliff dangling from his fingers into his lap at the sound of the door slamming behind him.

“Excuse me?”

“Laid. I need to get laid. Fucked. Porked. Whatever you wanna call it,” he griped, flopping down onto the couch beside Zach, plucking the reefer from between his fingers, taking a slow drag, eyes squeezing shut as he fell back against the cushions with a sigh.

“Well, I can’t help you there,” his roommate shrugged, looking a bit annoyed as the cigarette smouldered in Ryan’s grip, neglected as he frowned at the ceiling. “Maggie wouldn’t like me screwing somebody else.”

Ryan’s nose scrunched up in disgust, passing the blunt back to him. “Ugh, no. I don’t want _you_ to fuck me, Zach. Literally anybody but you as long as they have a pulse.”

“Well, that checks River Phoenix off the list then,” Zach said unhelpfully.

_ “ Zach." _

“Okay, okay!” he conceded, “I...I know one girl who might be down to hook up.”

“Great,” Ryan said absentmindedly. “Send her to my room.”

And with that he left, leaving Zach baffled behind.

*

True to his word, the girl slipped through his bedroom door at half-past ten, lithe and holding some difficult kind of beauty, like a storm cloud rolling over a troubled sea. Her dark eyes peered out at him under smokey eyeshadow smudged softly across the lids. A tight skirt grazed the top of her knee caps, shiny black hair curling as it fell past her breasts, perky and dainty in a baby tee.  They didn’t kiss so much as collide, mouths hot and fervent and downright uncaring as Ryan led her backwards towards the bed, hand falling to the small of her back as the toppled over the frame, landing on the mattress below.

The girl giggled, the sound almost lost as Ryan pressed their mouths together, arms bracketing in her small frame, legs on either side of her as he leaned in.  She let a slim-fingered hand trail past his rotator cuff, landing on his forearm, giving it a small squeeze. He jumped at the touch. The taut muscles flexed instinctively under the pressure, and she hummed against his lips, smiling in the scarce moments they parted, a slick sound echoing through the room with each separation of their mouths.

“Strong,” she said, voice complimentary, and Ryan felt a swell of contentment. He worked hard for his muscles, and it was always nice for hard work to not go unnoticed.

Putting them to good use, Ryan wrapped one arm around her waist and rolled them so she was perched atop his hips, gaping slightly as her hands came to rest across his chest. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, as if she didn’t quite yet know where she was.  They quickly came to rest on Ryan’s face, and no sooner had she pinned him under her sultry gaze that she began to mouth hotly up his neck, hands trailing along his sides, rucking up his shirt, manicured thumbs digging just below his pectorals, counting each rib.

Ryan let out a soft groan, shuddering as her breathed fanned over his nipples, a muted twinge of disappointment settling in as she drew her mouth away.

“Yeah, you like that?” she cooed. “My _m_ _ amá _ always said the softest place on a man’s body is his neck.”

Quite frankly, Ryan couldn’t bring himself to give a damn about what adages the mystery girl’s mother had to supply, and he made it clear as such as he dragged her down into another bruising kiss — on the lips this time, so she couldn’t say anything more to distract him.  He wanted to fuck hard and silently, the sooner the better. Ryan didn’t know if it was possible to outrun guilt, to cut and run when it loomed behind you like a police car’s headlights in the rearview mirror. But he sure as hell was going to try.

He let his hands slip up her skirt, massaging the smooth skin there, fingers digging into the sides of her thighs, tugging her further into the seat of his lap. She went willingly, a high-pitched, curious sound slipping out of her mouth, hand tracing the line of his jaw.  Her thumb brushed across his stubbled cheek, the other hand coming to fan across the back of the head, threading through his hair in a way that sent a delicious tingle down his spine. His lips parted, deepening the kiss, tongues brushing as he slid a hand up her shirt, the other still gripping her waist.  She moaned into his mouth, Ryan echoing the sound as she bit down on his bottom lip, writhing slightly in his lap as he brushed a thumb over her hardened nipple. Ryan swelled in his jeans at the sound, bulge pressing against the thin material of her panties, where she was sat astride Ryan’s hips.

The hot curl in his gut was all the encouragement he needed before he was tugging off her skirt, hands falling across her ass as he tugged her flush against his chest, mouth hot on the column of her neck, nudging under the sensitive spot just below her jaw.  She rocked against him, hands settling on his shoulders, linking behind his back, chin tilted up to high Heavens as his lips trailed a hot pass across the skin.

Cock twitching insistently, he lifted her off, shucking off his jeans and peeling his shirt off as he kneeled on the bed. He situated himself between her spread legs, dragging them up to rest on either side of his head, kissing up her inner thigh.  Ryan’s breath fanning over the slick material of her panties, she dragged him up for a searing kiss, legs wrapped around him as she angled her hips up to grind against his cock. Ryan let out a shaky breath, moan stifled against her collarbone.  He dipped his nose into the crook of her neck, lips pressing against the warm skin. She smelled like flowers and that specific kind of heat that came from being entangled with someone else. Hooking a leg around his shin, she rolled them over, hands braced across his heaving chest, now-dishevelled hair framing her pretty face, where a lecherous grin beamed across it.

“Can I suck you off?”

Ryan’s breath caught in his throat, a strangled sound escaping his parted lips as his hands tightened around her waist. “I, yeah. Yeah, fuck, go ahead.”

She smiled, sliding down his body, hooking a finger into the waistband of his boxer-briefs, the thin cotton dragging heatedly across the head of his cock, a small surge of precome leaking from the tip at the delicious friction. He moaned softly, throwing a hand across his face.

She took him into her mouth with little to no preamble, establishing this for what it was — a loveless affair good for nothing, if only to relieve the tension coiling in his lower gut.

Ryan had no complaints, however, especially as her wet heat enveloped him completely, sliding down the shaft like it was the easiest thing in the world. Ryan bucked up slightly, manners be damned. If she was offended by the brazenness, she didn’t comment, humming around him and dragging a long, graceful finger along the underside of his cock.  A vein pulsed hotly as her tongue laved over the skin, Ryan’s flushed face buried in the crook of his elbow, tasting the salty sheen of sweat as he rocked forward into her mouth. He kept his eyes shut, and soon enough, his mind began to wander.

He knew he should look down — on her knees was a lovely girl working him up, peering up at him with wide eyes and reddened lips as she took his cock deeper into her mouth. It was the least he could do to watch the show, give an affirmative nod or lace his fingers through her hair.  But the allure of his fantasies drew him quickly in, and alarmingly, made a bee-line straight to the voice of the man who’d gotten him off just days before. The phone sex operator — smug and so goddamn _good_ it made Ryan’s toes curl out from under him, made him reach for the phone nearly two days in a row.

He thought of what the man might do if he were here between his legs instead of the girl. How he’d work him up slowly, gradually speeding up until Ryan was arching off the bed, pleading to come, and he would wrap his hand around him, looking up at him with that stupid cocky look.

How he’d pull away just before Ryan could come, thumb brushing over his hole, hand coming down to curl around Ryan’s thigh and slip his fingers inside him.

_ “Yeah, that feel good, baby? You like the feeling of being filled up?” _

How he’d tease him so slowly, slipping past the second knuckle and sliding out to tease at his rim.  _ “You think you could handle two, sweetheart?” _

And Ryan would moan out a _yes_ and then, _please_ and he would coo,  “So responsive,”  and slip another finger in. Two, maybe three, until Ryan was writhing against the mattress, hips bucking as the searched for any kind of friction.

_ “Yeah? You want that? Want me to push you onto the bed and flip you over and fuck you so hard you can’t even whine?” _

Ryan was distinctly aware of the keening sound he made at the thought, lips brushing wetly against his feverish skin, panting into his arm and pushing up into the tight heat of the mouth swallowing around him. He was dizzy at the sensation, lolling his head up until it smacked against the headboard with a dull thump and a loud creak as the mattress shifted below him.  And he would make good on his promise, sliding into him, filling him up so well. And he would brace himself over Ryan, hair falling over his face as he drove in, over and over and over again until he was pleading below him, cock dripping and hard against his belly.

Then the permission, _“_ _Go ahead baby,”_ he’d say, voice low and rich. _“Come for me.”_

And Ryan did, cock giving one last fervent twitch, body shuddering as he came hotly, hips canting up to chase the friction of lips dragging across his skin. It was a bit rude, he would later think guiltily, to not give the girl a warning, but she simply swallowed around him, leaning back on the balls of her feet, letting the rest of it drip down into Ryan’s sheets.

“Fuck,” he panted, flushed from the next down, come leaking steadily between his thighs.

The girl wiped her mouth almost lazily, slipping off the bed to collect her panties and skirt, slipping them on in skilled succession and pulling her shirt over her head. She paused by the door, hand hovering over the knob.

“It’s Becky,” she said factually, eyes trained curiously on Ryan.

Kiss-dumb and bleary-eyed, Ryan craned his neck up to meet her gaze, face screwed up as he tried to decipher her words. “Huh?” he said intelligently.

“My name — it’s Becky. When you came you said said something else. You called me Shane.”

Panic set in like like mustard gas rolling over the trench field, dangerous and just as intoxicating as he clambered to sit up. “Becky, I—“

She waved him off, “S’okay,” she smiled, and with that, she was gone, slipping out the door with the same ease she had arrived with.

Letting his head fall back against the headboard, Ryan’s wide eyes scanned the top of his ceiling, heart hammering in his chest.

_ He was so fucked. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone: fuck boomers
> 
> shane with louise and mark: _fuck_ boomers
> 
> __
> 
> also if you get that 'shorty' joke reference, you have superior taste


	7. Rebound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rebound- To gain possession of a missed shot after it bounces off the backboard or basket rim ; (of an event or situation) have an unexpected adverse consequence for (someone, especially the person responsible for it)_

“When was the last time you did something fun?”

Sara was sat across the room from him on her carpeted dormitory floor. Her brightly patterned socks were as loud as the bouncy curls dipping below her collarbone, a tartan bandana pushing them into place.  She had a small, thoughtful smile on her face, the kind that almost always meant she was devising a scheme of sorts. Shane felt her gaze on the side of his head for the past five minutes, but opted to ignore it until her voice demanded his attention.

Of course, Sara was his best friend, so it did.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, not looking up from his computer. “We have fun all the time, don’t we?”

Sara rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, because you stealing my phone and hiding it in your bag for the entirety of third period was a hoot.”

“It was funny to me.”

She eyed Shane’s grin with distaste, chucking a pen cap at his face, sitting back contentedly as it made contact, dragging her paintbrush across the paper sprawled out in front of her.

Shane would have been perfectly content to stay like this, watching her hand make graceful strokes across her latest project, watching it come alive in front of him. But, of course, Sara had other ideas, looking out for him like a mother fawns over her child, though she’d roll her eyes at the comparison.

“All I’m saying is it wouldn’t hurt to let loose for one night.”

Shane laughed wryly, “Sar, I’m a phone sex operator. Doesn’t get much looser than that.”

“I don’t mean like  _ that." _

She let out a frustrated huff, and Shane knew if she wasn’t preoccupied, she would be thwacking him over the head with the rolled up paper at her feet. “You know, sometimes I wonder if enough blood goes to that giant head of yours.”

“Nope, just goes south.”

“You don’t enjoy your job that much, don’t lie to me.”

He sighed. _Da_ _mmit Rubin._ " You’re right, I don’t. God, why didn’t I just get a waitressing job like you?”

“Beats me. But we’re in the same position, talking to people we don’t particularly like five days a week. Which is even more reason why you should spend time with people you actually like. Like me, for example.”

Shane was helpless to stop the smile from creeping up his face, or the quiet laugh that fell from his lips.

“It’s not all bad,” he said finally. “My job, I mean. The clients...I don’t mind some of them.”

Shane’s mind immediately flitted to the man that had solicited him just a few days before, those bratty snipes dissolving into panted pleas as he neared his release, wound tight as an elastic ball. Shane’s hand slipping to the front of his chinos, muffling his moan into the back of his hand.

He blushed.

Sara’s face broke into a grin as bright as the sun, eyes twinkling like light rippling off a pond, “Oh, this is about that guy you told me about the other day, isn’t it? The guy on the phone!”

He shushed her, cheeks tinged pink as her roommate Kelsey — a different Kelsey, both blonde but vastly different in personalities — walked past the room.

She hadn’t said anything _revealing_ , but it was still embarrassing. His clients were supposed to be the desperate ones, not him, and he sure didn’t need the entire campus knowing he had the hots for some rando soliciting a sex line  _he worked at_.

“Just — what was this idea you had in mind anyways? Enlighten me.”

Not blind to the obvious diversion, Sara sent him an appraising look and took the bait, if only to take pity on his ego and quickly reddening face.

“I was thinking maybe we could go to a party. There’s one being held in one of the fraternities tomorrow night, and I think it might be fun.” She paused, giving him a pointed look, a smile teasing at her lips. “I hear Ryan’s gonna be there.”

Shane’s face twisted up into a mask of confusion. There weren’t many times Sara baffled him after two years of friendship, but she still managed to pull it off sometimes. This was one of those times.

“Ryan? You mean like, my film class partner? How do you know him?”

“Other than the fact you’ve practically been attached at the hip all week? He’s in my Humanities course. Sleeps at his desk the entire time.”

Shane’s mind whirred, trying to digest the bits of information being thrown at him with reckless abandon. His face screwed up, flipping through a range of emotions like channel surfing a TV. Eventually, he settled on ‘indignant,’ turning to face Sara fully.

“We are _not_ _' attached to the hip,'_ okay? We’re  _ partners, _ ” he clarified. “My grade is kind of riding on him.”

“By choice.”

“He’s the most experienced in the class with directing!”

Sara raised an eyebrow, “And I’m sure his good looks have nothing to do with it?”

He blushed, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She leaned against the wall, face drawn in utter disbelief, not buying it for a second. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed him walking around in those tight shirts with his strong arms and great ass. Hell, I’d go after him.”

Shane scowled, “Well, maybe you should. Maybe it will help you to stop meddling in my own love life.”

Luckily — or perhaps unluckily for him, Sara had known him long enough to discern annoyance from actual anger on his face, and was undeterred by his pout.

“Think about it, okay? At the very least, it’s an excuse to get hammered and eat Taco Bell.”

Shane considered this, “I do like Taco Bell.”

Sara wrinkled her nose, “I know you do.”

He strode across the room, offering her an open palm, which she shook readily, like a realtor closing on a sale.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

*

“Why would you ask _Zach_ for love help? That boy doesn’t have an inch of romance in his soul!”

Dead centre of their living room, Curly was berating a regretful Ryan, their skinny roommate looking up from the adjacent couch with feigned offense. “Jeez, none taken!”

Curly waved him off, clucking his tongue and looking down at the sight before him like an electrician sorting through a tangle of wires. 

_ “ Querido _ _,_ I’m right here! You should have asked me to set you up with someone! I could have found you a tall and handsome gentleman instead of some...” he waved his hand around aimlessly, as if grasping for words in the air. “Call girl,” he finished with a scowl.

“Nope. No,” Ryan said, shaking his head. “No tall and handsome strangers. I’ve had enough of those lately.”

“Well, don’t sound so glum about it,  _ papi _ _,_ I’d love to have that problem.”

“I thought you said _'_ _everyone wants a piece of Curly’_.”

Curly tsked at him, shaking his head. “The mouth on you,  _ cielo _ _._ Too bad you’re not putting it to good use.”

Ryan rolled his eyes.

He glared at Zach, a hand falling across Ryan’s chest, “Look at him,  _ tonto _ _,_ you broke him!  _ El pobrecito. _ Ryan, tell Uncle Curly your woes.”

“I don’t have  _ woe _ _s,_ okay? Can’t a guy get a blowjob without there being a goddamn inquisition about it?”

“Not when you mope around after like a little  _ cachorro perdido, mijo.  _ What did she do? Use her teeth?”

Ryan winced, face drawn into a grimace, “What? No! It was nothing _she_ did. It...probably something I did, without knowing. Some...problem.”

Curly stared at him a moment, flummoxed, face shifting into a look of painful sympathy, “Oh,  _ querido, _ I told you to lay off the whiskey. Good for the brain, but not for the...well.”

It dawned on Ryan a long second later, and he recoiled, face flushing up to his ears. “Oh, Jesus no! Not * that * kind of problem.”

“Well, good. Because I want to go get drinks on Friday. You in?”

Ryan hesitated. On one hand, a rowdy party surrounded by other potential drunken hookups sounded like a recipe for disaster. On the other hand, it might be just what Ryan needed to get his mind off of the man from the phone line. And after this week, he could use a drink.

Weighing the options, he gave in with a sigh. “Alright. Why not?”

With an enthusiastic woot, Curly clapped his hands, rings jingling on his fingers as he pushed himself to a standing position, letting himself out of Ryan’s condo with a wink over his shoulder.

“I expect to see you looking like a million bucks tomorrow,  _ papi. _ Who knows? Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, he could only hope Curly was right.

*

Sara whistled from the bed, dainty earrings winking with light where her hair was pinned out of her face. Her brown eyes sparkled playfully, simple cocktail dress loose and flowing where the material slipped just past her shoulders, revealing smooth pink skin and a smattering of freckles.  She looked gorgeous, elastic band of her flats snared around her ankle, tucked into her lap as she shot Shane an appraising look.

He laughed, waving her off as she made a show of looking him up and down, hands on either side of the mattress. “Don’t look at me like that, Rubin. You’re starting to give me ideas.”

“I didn’t know Jake Gyllenhaal was going to be accompanying me tonight,” she teased, looking up at him almost dreamily, hand coming up to cup her cheek like a kid with a crush.

“Careful now. Keep talking like that and you’ll be leaving the party with me too.”

She laughed — a small snort slipping from her mouth as she tilted her head back, smiling easily. It was a familiar sight that warmed Shane to the bone, and it was one of those moments that he felt especially lucky to know Sara Rubin

_ Alright, Madej, keep those sappy emotions in check. You haven’t even gotten one drink in. _

Despite his best efforts, he smiled, and she came up to tweak his collar, nimble fingers and warm palms smoothing down the pink button-up.

“You wish.”

This was one of his favourite things about his relationship with Sara; how they could just  _ exist _ in that mutual understanding and comfort that was scarcely found at this age. How he could count on her to have his back and cheer him on, and be unapologetically devilish in her schemes.

“Tie or no tie?” he hummed, looking into the standing mirror and running the black strip of fabric between his fingers. He held it up to his pale skin questioningly, and in the reflection, Sara rolled her eyes.

“Are you trying to get laid or are you trying to get a job interview?” she plucked it from his hands, “No tie, and unbutton your shirt a little, you look like a Catholic priest. It’s gonna give people the wrong idea.”

“What? You think I’m not a holy man, Sar? Me and J.C — we’re like this,” he crossed his middle and index finger, whistling lowly for added effect, revelling in the disbelieving shake of her head as she chucked the tie across the room.

“I rescind my previous statement. You’re incorrigible.”

“Oh, come on,” he cooed, beaming down at her. “You love it.”

From this angle, her forehead barely grazing the top of his shoulder, she looked like a very petulant child. But the gleeful smile on Shane’s face revealed him to be the immature one in the room, and she took hold of his wrist, dragging him out of the room.

“Yeah, yeah. But you know who doesn’t? Our Uber driver — we’re five minutes late. Now come on!”

Not one to argue with a commandeering voice, Shane obliged, letting himself be led to the front door and into the Uber, where Kelsey was already tucked into the backseat, looking pretty in a pale pink dress.

As the car began to roll down the driveway, he undid the top three buttons of his shirt, catching Sara’s wink in the rearview mirror — all too knowing.

Her voice echoed in his mind, clear as an early spring day.  _“I hear Ryan’s gonna be there.”_ Shane wondered why the possibility was so enticing. 

*

The fraternity was already packed by the time Ryan, Curly, and Zach strode through the doors, Ned and Todd close in tow. The house boomed with early 2000’s music, audible from the sidewalk outside, and Ryan wondered how long it would be before some ornery resident filed a nose complaint to RA. 

Pushing the thought aside, he plucked up one of the empty solo cups lined up along the table adjacent to the door. There seemed to be some kind of colour system pertaining to relationship status, with pink indicating that you were taken and blue indicating you were single.  Ryan instinctively reached for a pink cup before stopping himself, feeling his friends’ sympathetic gaze on the back of his neck. Shaking himself slightly, he picked up a blue cup, suddenly feeling it was imperative he got some alcohol in it right at that moment.

_ Fuck that stupid colour-coding system anyway. _

Pushing through the crowd of hot, clammy bodies, he found himself in the kitchen, various bowls of chips and other party refreshments laid out on an already rumpled table and sprawling across the countertops.  Ryan’s eyes were immediately drawn to the wide, crystal bowl brimming with some kind of artificially pink liquid, what looked like grapejuice floating to the top like a lazy sailor.  He dipped his cup into the trough, punch spilling stickily over the rim and dripping down his fingers with reckless abandon as he brought it to his mouth. The smell hit him almost immediately, reeking of booze and fruity flavouring and tasting no less sweet.

Like most parties, the punch was a deceptively innocent choice, and Ryan fully intended to revisit it throughout the night. After all, he was here to get hammered and make poor decisions, wasn’t he? Might as well go the full mile.

On a second thought, he snagged two beers from the cooler, tucking them under his arm for later. The condensation was slick and cool against his heated skin; warmth seemed to bloom from inside the room, scarcely an inch of space between the congregations of bodies pressed together as the party bustled to life in full swing.  It was dizzying — the humidity of it all, the smell of sweat and people and booze radiating off the room, speaker pulsating with some faintly recognizable tune as the walls melted around them. It was everything Ryan liked about parties, and he was feeling suddenly grateful for Curly’s insistence he accompanied him.  Speaking of Curly — there he was, stood beside Ryan with his usual effortless cool, hair piled high on his forehead, stylish frames glinting across his dark eyes. He wore a black sleeveless button-up, collar close to his neck in a way only he could pull off, silvery chains dangling over his solar plexus. 

His jeans were impressively tight, hugging his legs in a decidedly flattering way, and Ryan knew he was silently berating him for not taking his suggestion to get all dolled up for the evening.

_ “ Why do I have to get dressed up? It’s not like I’m going to meet the love of my life at a college party?" _ he’d asked earlier in the night, much to Curly’s obvious chagrin.

_ ”You never know, papi! The Spirits work in mysterious ways, and the Spirits do not want to see you looking like fraternity trash. What would your abuelita think?” _

Ryan had rolled his eyes at that. “I’m sure grandma Bergara is perfectly happy with my fashion choices.”

Curly made a noncommittal sound in response, pouting a little. _“_ _ I’m going to burn those basketball shorts one of these days. Nothing but trouble.” _

_ “What is everyone’s fixation with my basketball shorts?” _

Ryan blushed, remembering the way they had tented just the other day, cock leaking and leaving a wet spot on the thin material as the operator purred in his ear. 

He had, of course, washed them, but the rinse cycle had done little to absolve it of its debaucherous history, and lo and behold, there they sat on Ryan’s thighs once again.

“You looked flushed already,  _ mijo, _ slow down,” Curly chastened him, wrinkling his nose as he peered into Ryan’s cup, “Ugh, you’re drinking that? How many parties will it take you to learn to not go for the jungle juice?”

“Until it stops getting me sheet-faced,” Ryan said honestly, and Curly tsked at him, sipping his chardonnay with an air of snobbiness, eyes scanning the room.

“Well, I hope your liquid courage is serving you well. I think your little boyfriend just walked in.”

Ryan furrowed his brows, trying to follow Curly’s gaze to whatever poor stranger he decided was Ryan’s new beau, to no avail.

“Well, not little. In any way apparently. Wow, those are some tight jeans.”

And only then did Ryan zero in on the man in question, the tallest figure in the room, ambling in beside a perky looking brunette. 

_ Oh my God is that— _

“Madej?” he said, striding across the room in three quick movements, tongue loose and already betraying him as it blurted out the man’s name. He wobbled slightly on his feet, and yeah, he was a little drunk.

Maybe pre-gaming with tequila shots wasn’t a good idea, in hindsight. But then again, wasn’t poor decisions fuelled by alcohol the tune of the night? It was what carried him halfway across the room to his lanky partner in the first place, peering down at him from above his nose.

“Bergara,” he said amicably, looking as baffled by the interaction as Ryan was.

“As in Ryan Bergara?” the short, curly-haired girl beside him asked, a small smile on her lips. 

Madej elbowed her inconspicuously where she was pressed against his arm, and Ryan’s brows furrowed as he looked between them, wondering if he was imagining the slight flush creeping up his cheeks.

“Uh, yeah. Do I know you?”

“Not exactly. You’re in my Humanities class and I’ve seen you hanging around the Big Guy lately, though, so I guess we’re somewhat acquainted in that way”

Ryan nodded slowly, still trying to get past her referral of Madej as the ‘Big Guy,’ finding it both fitting and oddly intriguing as he stared up at him. _Jesus, he was a tall dude._

“Well, good to be acquainted with you, I guess.”

He extended a hand awkwardly, internally grimacing at his painfully tactless response.  _ Yeah, definitely not his finest hour.  _ It also didn’t help that she was pretty with those ringlet curls kissing the top of her shoulders and the gentle flush of her cheeks.  Undeterred, she accepted the gesture in stride, sliding her small hand in his own and giving it a surprisingly strong shake. Looking between the two of them, the taller man squinted at the strange interaction, as if trying to piece together what exactly was happening.

_ Yeah, Big Guy _ _,_ Ryan thought. _J_ _oi n the club._

“ Good to finally meet you. I assume you two already know each other?”

Ryan looked at Madej, getting an equally as baffled look back. Acquainted, maybe. Know seemed a bit too intimate for their dynamic, considering he still didn’t even know the guy’s first name. 

_ Know? _ What did he _know_ about the dude other than the fact he was unnaturally tall and obnoxious in all the most peeving ways, and seemed inordinately set on driving Ryan up the wall?  Eventually, they just shrugged, and apparently set on coaxing a bigger response out of them, she broached the subject a little more.

“So, you two are partners, right? You’re working on that paranormal film footage for your cinema studies course.”

She seemed to know an awful lot about Madej’s personal life, and for a brief moment, seeing her leaned up against his arm, wondered if they were a thing. A quick glance to the blue cup in the taller man’s hand immediately nullified the possibility, and Ryan tried not to think too hard about how that sent a wave of relief through him.

“Uh, yeah. We’re doing a paranormal investigation at the old Sycamore Ranch. You heard of it?”

“Here and there. Though I’ll admit, I’m not a big believer in that stuff, I’m probably just as much of a skeptic as him,” she said, hooking a thumb back at Madej, who smiled triumphantly.  _ Two for two. _

“But, the stuff does make for some pretty great movies. I guess the world needs believers like you for that, huh?”

Trying to gauge if he was being offhandedly insulted, Ryan paused for a moment, her kind face and twitching smile revealing her intentions to be nothing but playful, and Ryan let his shoulders relax a little.

“I have to say, it’s some pretty compelling stuff we’ve got. It’s not all just made up, even though some of it is.”

Madej’s face was painted in amusement as he leaned against the wall, eyes twinkling a little drunkenly. “That’s Ryan’s buzz-word.  _ Compelling. _ Uses it a lot for stuff that’s mostly complete horseshit.”

Now that was a direct insult, but expecting no less from the man, he shot back easily, like they had been doing for the past week.

“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up. But when a ghost decides to poke you right in your little skeptic bellybutton, I’m gonna say ‘I told you so.’ ”

The man’s voice was saccharine sweet, amusement dripping off every word, _“Oh_ _ Ryan,"_

“Don’t — don’t call me that,” he huffed, feeling a bit flustered, the taller man’s cheeks as pink as his dress shirt, Ryan’s own face a direct match. 

At least he could blame it on the alcohol, he thought, eyes trailing down the small expanse of skin just below his collarbone where his shirt was unbuttoned.

Sometime during their heated debate, the girl — Sara, had slipped into the crowd. A quick inventory of the room would tell him that she had reconvened with a bubbly blonde girl in the corner of the room, but Ryan wasn’t looking much of anywhere besides Madej’s lean body.

He took a long sip of beer.

“So, what brings you to a scene like this?” the man’s voice interrupted his thoughts, that ever-present grin still on his face. “Trying to sneak a peek at the finest bachelorettes UCLA has to offer?”

Ryan huffed out a laugh, nodding his head towards the other vaguely bro-ish men in the room. “I’m part of this fraternity. It’s kinda my thing to be here.”

“Oh god, don’t tell me you’re in one of those Kappa-Sigma bullshit cults.”

Ryan rolled his eyes, “It’s not a cult, you dick. And it’s _Delta Kappa—”_

Ryan stopped dead in his tracks, heart coming to a dizzying standstill in his chest. He took in the man’s tall stature, the easiness of his grin, the smooth, low sound of his voice oddly familiar. Ryan’s eyes, through their drunken haze, were surprisingly more perceptive. The operator’s voice echoed in his ears,  _ ”I just assumed you’d be in one of those fraternities. Kappa Sigma whatever the hell you call it.” _

It all made sense now - that silver tongue quick to challenge; those long fingers curled around his drink; why he seemed so _familiar._

Ryan braced himself against the wall, hum of people around him suddenly muffled, his own voice sounding strange and warbled as it wavered past his lips.

“What did you say your name was again?”

A faintly confused look was the last thing Ryan made out before he was overcome by a sudden wave of nausea, lurching forward and puking all over the man’s shoes.

Curly was at his side in an instant, grabbing his arm in a vice-like grip, cursing quietly at Ryan for being so goddamn heavy and " _ work with me here, querido!" _

Ryan slumped against his side, slurring out a protest when the drink was plucked from his hand. From his place leaned against Curly’s shoulder, he could distantly make out his quiet gripes, giving the taller man an appraising look. 

“Jesus, _papi_ , a little warning would have been nice. _Enfermo de amor._ Tsk tsk.”

Ryan giggled, head lolling back, world a blurry smudge of colours around him as he was being escorted out the room, out of the house, and into the cool night air where he was being dumped on the sidewalk.

“Wait here,” Curly said sternly, or at least he thought it was Curly, if the hair and exasperated tone was anything to go by. 

His hair was high and frizzy atop his head, wild from working the room in typical Velasquez fashion, and it suddenly struck Ryan as deliciously funny, his friend looking down at him, hackles up like an angry mother hen.  He laughed, the sound quickly dissolving into groans as his head spun dizzily, beer sloshing around in his stomach as he braced himself against the palms of his hands.  _ Yeah, he was definitely three sheets to the wind. _

Music still thrummed from inside the house, nearly pulsing through the block like a heartbeat. Ryan’s temples throbbed dully with the beat, as if in sympathy for the wicked hangover surely awaiting him the next day.  But Ryan had bigger issues to worry about than that. For example, the vice-like grip around his wrist, tugging him to his feet and hauling him into the passenger side of an unrecognizable car.

“Woah, woah, what. Huh?” he babbled, tumbling ungracefully into the seat, limbs heavy and slow as molasses as he tried to push past the stale grogginess flooding his body.

“Some nice girl offered to give you a ride back. The one that came in with that lover boy of yours that you puked all over.”

Oh yeah, and there was * that .* The fact that super hot phone sex operator Shane and his practically intolerable group project partner, Madej were the * same guy .* Jesus. Ryan willed himself to remember to freak out about that later, because it didn’t seem like he could will himself to forget. With a few muttered Spanish curses and a click of his seatbelt, Curly retreated, shutting the door and strutting back into the party, Ryan leaning heavily on its weight as his hands tugged at the belt tight across his chest, digging into his skin.

“Alright, I’ll be right back, Kels!” a muffled female voice called from outside, “Don’t let Shane get too hammered, I promised him a Taco Bell run.”

Ryan licked his lips, groaning. In his drunken mind, nothing sounded more appealing than shoving a greasy _tostada_ down his throat. His stomach churned, seizing almost warningly, and he fought against another wave of nausea, mouth impossibly dry.

_ Maybe not. _

Sara’s small figure blotted out the night sky as she walked around the car and settled into the driver’s seat, shooting him a sympathetic look reserved for injured puppies, feverish kids, and apparently — a very drunk, very pitiful Ryan.

“How you doing?”

Ryan just mumbled incoherently, a groan pressed against the window of the passenger seat where glass was deliciously cool against his hot cheek.

“Fair enough,” she said, turning the key and letting the engine idle on the side street where it was parked. “Just try not to throw up. I’m only leasing this thing.”

And with that, she was pulling the stick back and carefully backing up, a small hand braced on the back of Ryan’s headrest as she slid smoothly in reverse, gear stick clicking again as she rolled the car forwards, pulling down the street.

“You remember where you live?” she asked, a teasing smile on her lips, but even drunk, Ryan didn’t miss the endearing concern on her face as she looked over at his slumped form.

Luckily, Ryan did, and typing the address into Google Maps, she drove him home, Ryan nearly lulled to sleep by the slow movements of the car and the app’s steady voice.

“You know, Shane’s kind of a weird guy,” Sara said suddenly, rousing Ryan from his half-slumber. He sat up a little straighter, bracing himself against the cup holder.

“Yeah, I kind of gathered that from the investigation. Runnin’ around tellin’ ghosts to rip out his spine or something.”

Sara laughed, the sound bright and offensive to Ryan’s throbbing head. “Yeah, sounds like Shane. But no, that’s not what I mean.” She was gripping the steering wheel, looking through the windshield almost thoughtfully.

“Shane, he...he doesn’t always express his thoughts or feelings in a clear way. He’s always been kind of weird about that, at least as long as I’ve known him.”

Ryan watched the side of her face, wondering just how long her and Shane had been friends. How long their lives have been intertwined, like vines on a tree, flowering a bond. He wondered if he would ever have that with Shane, if he would even _want_ to. Sober Ryan would say _absolutely not,_ but drunk Ryan was criminally inquisitive and far too loopy to think about consequences, so he let the idea wander for a moment, waiting for Sara to continue.

“Anyways, he’s a good guy. It’s...it’s nice to see him making friends and putting himself out there a lot. Shane, he...he’s not one to just throw himself around, you know? He doesn’t hang out with just anyone.”

Ryan, feeling suddenly sobered, wanted to press the matter further, ask Sara what she meant, ask her what else Shane was like. The kind of guy he was. The kind of guy he thought _Ryan_ was.  But then she was pulling into his driveway, smiling softly as she idled, leaning across the center console.

“Anyway, nice to meet you, Ryan Bergara. I look forward to seeing what you’re like when you’re not puking all over my friend’s shoes.”

With a playful wink, she let Ryan clamber out of the car, watching him stumble up the front steps.

“And Ryan?” she called out the window. “Do yourself a favour and leave a Tylenol beside your bed before you go to sleep. You’ll thank me later.”

Offering her a smile, he let himself into their (thankfully unlocked) condo, breezing right past the kitchen and into his room, where he flopped down onto his bed, cheek pressed into the soft sheets.

He would sort all that out later. He was just going to wait for the room to stop spinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *big time rush theme:* _woah oh oh oh oh_
> 
> ___
> 
> 1\. _“Querido"_ \- "Dear"
> 
> 2\. _"Cielo"_ "Darling" (indirect)
> 
> 3\. _"Tonto"_ "Silly/Idiot" 
> 
> 4\. _"El pobrecito."_ "Poor baby"
> 
> 5\. _"Cachorro perdido"_ "Lost puppy"
> 
> 6\. _"Enfermo de amor"_ "Love sick"


	8. Double Foul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Double Foul- A situation in which two opponents commit a foul against each other simultaneously._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3C3Iiii4L9E

“I can’t believe he puked on your shoes.”

They were sitting at a wrought-iron table of a Taco Bell restaurant, the garish neon lights of the building casting a strange green glow across the deserted patio, night still and quiet around them, save for the constant stream of traffic moving in and out of the freeway.  Shane was scarfing down a Cool Ranch Dorito Taco Supreme, sour cream dotting the edge of his mouth and sauce spilling over his fingers which he sucked an obnoxious pop.  It was the kind of food so ridiculously terrible it was almost good. The kind of greasy, indulgent takeout only justifiable when one was:

a) A broke college student.

Or:

b) Piss-drunk.

Lucky for him, Shane was both, and he devoured the food with near- animalistic zeal. Sara was sat across from him, looking equally as disgusted as she was endeared, sipping her water as the moon ducked behind the skyline.

“I can believe it,” Shane said, licking his lips and wiping his hands on a napkin. “He was drinking that disgusting jungle juice concoction. You know how much alcohol is in those things? A hard lesson learned,” he whistled lowly.

“It seems like just yesterday you were at baby’s first keg-stand,” Sara said teasingly, almost painfully fond as she reached out and wiped sauce off Shane’s cheek.

“Oh god, don’t remind me.”

“You ate a whole pumpkin!”

Shane groaned, rubbing his unfocused eyes and dragging a palm across his cheek, stubble making a soft sound against the skin.

“So you’re not mad at him?” 

Shane looked up, squinting at her — partly out of surprise and partly because the streetlights boring into his eyes weren’t agreeing with the drinks he’d had.

“Why would I be mad?”

“Well, he  _ puked _ in your _shoes_."

_ “ On _ my shoes.” Shane corrected her, taking a swig from her water bottle. “And shoes can be cleaned. Honestly, I’m more worried about if the guy can even stand up straight. How did he seem when you dropped him off?”

Sara smiled, small and almost secretively, as if she knew something Shane didn’t. She leaned forward conspiratorially, arms crossed on the table between them, eyes twinkling where they met his.

“I think you’ve got a bit of a soft spot for him.”

His face immediately flushed, and he hadn’t drank nearly enough to blame it on the booze. The slight breeze to the air did nothing to cool his warm cheeks, painting his guilt in rosy paint strokes against the dark tapestry of night. 

The excuse wouldn’t have worked anyway — Sara knew, by the way she was smiling at him.  _ Shane _ knew —

Knew what? That Ryan Bergara was infuriatingly attractive despite his ramblings about ghosts and bizarre conspiracy theories? Despite the way he rejected every bit of common sense in favour of buying into some hokey bullshit, he was ridiculously hot?  The way sometimes his fists clenched when bickered with Shane and it made all the muscles in his arm flex that had proven to be very distracting? Yeah, Shane knew all about that, because it had been ping ponging through his mind all week from the first moment he sat next to him in class, keyed-up as ever.

“I wouldn’t call it a soft spot. More like a hard spot — like a bad penny that keeps turning up.”

“A bad penny that you chose to be partners with in a group project.”

“Well, this bad penny has amazing directorial skills, so yeah, maybe I’m dipping into the spare change a little. Sue me.” He took a breath, frowning, “This metaphor sucks.”

Sara smiled, “So stop making it weird. Do you or do you not want to bang the dude?”

_ Sara, _ he wanted to chastise her. Wanted to kick her under the table and hiss out a reprimand and a hurried excuse about other people overhearing, even though it was only the two of them in the whole lot. But he couldn’t play the purist card, not when the memory of Bergara looking sinfully good in that tight t-shirt was still fresh in his mind.

“Yeah,” he said begrudgingly. “Hypothetically, I wouldn’t be  _ opposed _ to it.”

“Hypothetically.”

“Yes.”

“So if you got the chance to woo him and do all that kind of lovey-dovey stuff with him, would you take it?”

Shane held up a hand, “Woah, woah. Hooking up and committing are two very different things. I haven’t been in a serious relationship for like, two years.”

He entertained the idea of having Bergara that way — bickering about ghosts and just about everything under the sun, only the looks they shared would be fond too, the laughter bringing warmth to their chests and cheeks as they leaned closer in, sharing breath, sharing space.

It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant thought.

Sara shrugged, undeterred. She was used to Shane’s persistent, sometimes painful nonchalance by now. “But you do like him.”

It was a question phrased more as a statement, and Shane stopped for a moment to consider it. He thought of Ryan’s exasperated expression every time he rebuked one of his theories; the loud, boisterous laughs huffed out of him at Shane’s jokes. His soft, grateful smile when he accepted the early morning coffee that had become almost routine at this point.

“Yeah,” he said carefully. “Yeah, I do.”

Sara grinned triumphantly. Apparently pleased with this answer, she didn’t push it any further, sliding out of her seat and tossing a stray napkin at his chest.

“Come on, Big Guy. Time to get you home.”

*

Ryan woke up Saturday morning feeling like a dead man. His mouth was dry and as foul as a crypt, limbs heavy and carrying the stability of an overstretched rubber band, pinging beneath his skin. A dull ache spread across his temples, vision swimming as he pressed his thumbs to the corners of his eye, groaning softly into his pillow.  The pale sunlight streaming through his window seemed almost oppressive, dust motes floating lackadaisically in the air, unfairly free. Ryan shifted, feeling his weight bear down against the mattress — his body an immovable object, the five shots of tequila he foolishly knocked back an unstoppable force.

_ Why was foresight so unfairly blurry? _

What was he expecting? To wake up grateful for last night’s bender? To reflect upon the booze now stale in his mouth and think, " _ Good idea, Drunk Ryan. What a grade-A decision!” _

Probably not, but he hadn’t expected the full-body _ache_ that wracked through him. It was as if a tide had come in and swallowed Ryan whole, undercurrent pinning his limbs in a thick gravity, stomach sloshing like a burgeoning wave. Bracing himself against the mattress, he slowly sat up, the dizziness almost instant as he rose to a vertical position. Eyes squeezed shut, throat constricting to fend off a new wave of nausea, he curled his fingers in the sheets and stumbled to his feet. The smell of coffee was suddenly potent in the air, luring Ryan to the kitchen like a shark scenting blood, eyes no less sharp, despite the last tendrils of sleep tugging at his mind. It filled the air, deep and rich, coaxing him down the hall, where the coffee machine was percolating and spluttering out steam as the red light blinked at him like a tiny eye.

His stomach growled, sending a low tremor that buzzed through Ryan’s entire body, and he realized with a strange astuteness that he was  fucking _ravenous._

He hadn’t gotten his usual fill of drunken grub — usually a disgusting conglomeration of pizza and whatever looked remotely deep-fried, and his hunger had apparently followed him into the next day like a displeased hitchhiker. Never one to deny himself the simpler pleasures in life, Ryan swilled a large cup of dark brew and ravaged three unsuspecting slices of toast, knocking it back with an extra-strength Tylenol —and _thank fuck,_ his organs cheered, a glass of water.

The consequences of Ryan’s drunk escapades were apparently determined to torment him, however, because no sooner had he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand did a notification pop up on his phone, contact name simply reading: ‘Madej.’

_ Y ou alive or should I look for a new ghoul- hunting partner? Would b kind of hard to  find another five foot  ghost hunter on such  short notice. -M _

For a moment, Ryan just stared at it, Shane’s contact name staring back at him and sparking every bit of confused, unsavoury feelings from the night before. And then with the grim resoluteness of a man pulling the trigger of a gun, he typed out a response.

_ H aha, very funny. i’m 5’9  actually, so  fuck you...also, how  did u get my number? -R _

_You put it in my phone last nite. Guess drunk drunk ryan wanted abooty call? LOL. -M_

Ryan’s heart hammered in his chest, something like fear writhing uneasily inside of him. He didn’t _remember_ cornering Shane at the party yesterday and saying or doing anything unsavoury, minus the whole shoe-puking incident.  But was it really impossible that he might have tried to pull a move on the idiot in his drunken haze? Ryan was a known horny drunk and he was three sheets to the wind last night, if the dull throbbing headache was anything to go off of.

_jk. Sara gave it to me. Now I can debunk all your bullshit theories anytime I want  😤 -M_

Ryan rolled his eyes. Of course it was a fucking bit — the guy never seemed to say a serious word in his life, and beneath that cool sense of relief sparked an exquisite brand of annoyance reserved for Shane’s antics.

_Not if i block u  👀 -R_

_ You wouldn’t dare... -M _

Ryan sent a picture of his finger hovering over the block button, the grey button threatening against the sea of white.

_ Wouldn’t i? -R _

_ Oh, you fiend... but u won't. Y ou need your  co-host, so your  diabolical plan  will have to wait  a week. -M _

_ Oh yeah  because finding a seven foot tall skeptic with a  giant head is so hard -R _

_ We are a  rare breed.  ol’ Sasquatch  Madej. One of a kind, baby! -M _

The flippant _'baby'_ stuck out like a sore thumb — like the thumb that had been halfway up Ryan’s ass earlier that week, the same phrase being purred in his ear like a fucking sin while he came around his fingers. Instantly, his face went hot.

_ Yeah, yeah, don’t sprain  a muscle stroking your bigass ego.  i need your hands in working condition when  we shoot the  next segment  next week...A nd don’t blow up my phone. I don’t want to see  that silly face  before Monday.  i’ve seen it enough this week as it is -R _

For a few minutes, Shane didn’t reply, and Ryan went about his business, assuming he’d taken the advice. It wasn’t until Ryan was stripped and hovering by the shower when his phone buzzed with the next notification, a slightly blurry image of Shane holding up his hand in a ‘shaka’ gesture, tongue and teeth displayed to the camera in an obnoxious grin. His hair was floppy, falling soft around his eyes, as if he’d just woken up.  Like two consecutive Chinese finger-traps closing around his body, his chest and groin went tight, a hot shudder of intrigue creeping up his thighs, curling in his stomach as he slammed the phone down, breath ragged.

He could see the dots of a new message typing on the screen, but drew his eyes away, stepping under the shower-head and letting the hot water clear his head.

_Sorry bout that, ry  🤙 -M_

**Read 8:46 am**

*

It wasn’t until Ryan was three fingers deep into his ass, come drying on his stomach before he realized he may not approaching the situation the right way.

After a pitiful jerk-off session in the shower, he was feeling oddly affirmed in the matter. His flushed body shrouded by steam as he leant against the slick tile walls; muscles taut and strained as he come across his knuckles, painting them in thick white stripes. He’d managed all of two hours before the curiosity slunk back into his hindbrain like an alleycat, needy and insistent and so goddamn commandeering Ryan thought he might die if he didn’t get his hand on his dick  _thisinstantplease._

So that’s how Ryan ended up sprawled across his bed, cock leaking steadily against his abs as three fingers worked inside him, searing as a poker as they rubbed up against his prostate. The ache was delicious, a slick sheen of sweat clinging to his sun-kissed skin, salty where it pooled in the junction of his inner arm.  He bit his hand, muffling his moans as he rocked back down onto his fingers, grinding down until his nerves felt like they might exolode, canting his hips up to seek friction in the air.

The operator’s voice was thick and deep in his ears, unearthed from his ever-growing spank bank: 

_ “How many fingers you got in you, baby? You think you can handle two, sweetheart? Bet you’re tight. Bet you gotta work yourself up for ages, just to slip one finger in.” _

Ryan wondered what he’d think if he saw him like this, splayed out open and ready on the bed, fingers stretching him out as his cock dribbled hot spurts of pre-come across his navel. Wondered if he’d hold his legs open, working him open on his own fingers, pushing in with a teasing smile on his face.  Sitting back on his haunches, those stupidly hot chinos clinging to his thighs as he leaned over Ryan, hair falling over his face as he pressed hot, teasing kisses to his neck.  Ryan straight up _whined,_ head falling back as he curled his fingers, dragging them along that sensitive spot until his was writhing, giving two shudders before coming across his chest, working himself through the tremors as his orgasm ripped through him. 

It was worse now, he knew, running his free hand through his hair, plastered to his forehead with sweat. It was worse because it wasn’t just some faceless voice he was jerking off to, but his own  _ partner _ that he saw in class almost  _ every day. _

It was worse because it made it a hell of a lot harder to deny the way his gaze lingered on the man as he cracked dumb jokes, moonlight soft across his face.

_Fuck._

*

By the time Monday rolled around, Ryan was sore, frustrated, and properly embarrassed. He hardly noticed when Madej slammed a cup of coffee on his desk, looking down at him with a scrutinizing, almost haughty look.

“Coffee,” he said simply, staring down his nose at Ryan, who looked up from his desk, cheek pressed into the cool wood.

“I see that. Thanks.”

He stifled a yawn, looking down at the lid, where ‘Bergara’ was scrolled in almost illegible handwriting, a small alien drawn next to it. He rolled his eyes, amusement twitching at his lips, “How much did you tip the barista to do this?”

“Cost a pretty penny, but worth every cent,” the man said, looking quite satisfied indeed as he leaned on the desk in a way that was decidedly distracting.

It seemed like with Shane, Ryan’s eyes were naturally drawn to the top of his head, like his body couldn’t physically contain the visceral reaction of exasperation at his presence. Either that or he could only look at him for so long before his brain started sparking like a faulty livewire.

“Are you done moping around? I’m just dying to hear about these ghosts, Ryan. I practically can’t contain my excitement,” he said wryly, and Ryan scowled at him, wrinkling his nose.

The smell of coffee was enough to placate him, however, and he gripped the cup, pushing out of his seat and following Madej out towards the library. As they slipped out of the lecture room, starting down the halls, Ryan tried not to pay attention to the way Shane’s hand ghosted over the small of his back, like it was meant to be there.

*

Ryan had wanted to do a live session on location. As daunting as the idea of going back to that old farmhouse was, they needed solid evidence for their project, and Ryan was willing to risk his neck to get it, if only to rub it in Shane’s big, dumb face.

_ Okay, so maybe it was a personal vendetta. _

That’s how they ended up on Tuesday — crouched on the rotted floorboards of the Sycamore farmhouse with a radio tuner between them. It was an eerily still night, no wind skirling through the trees, no thunder to shake the earth beneath them, just unadulterated silence. This, Ryan thought with a shudder, was almost worse.  The place was as dour and tempestuous as the dark clouds outside, nothing but their torches and oblique moonlight lighting the room. Boarded up windows were impaled by rusty nails, snagged through the fibres of the wood in a jagged wounds. A small crack in the glass panelling made way for a slight chill, filling the room like a cold front.

Ryan shivered, tugging his sweater closer.

“Gotta hand it to you, this place is pretty creepy,” Shane said, eyes scanning the room. “Definitely looks like the kind of place where bad things would happen.”

For everything they disagreed on, that was one thing Ryan couldn’t argue. The farmhouse seemed to carry its own climate, dilapidated and brooding, dark as the bottom of the sea. Pipes whined and protested behind thin walls, stairs creaked where there were no footfalls. Breaths shuddered where there no guests.

“So you do believe there’s something weird about this place!”

“Yeah, I’m not pleased to be here. But it’s not because of some spooky spectres or bad aura — this place is old as fuck!” He stood up,dragged a hand along the ledge of an old-fashioned stone fireplace, rubbing dust between his fingers with a crinkle of his nose. “It looks like no one’s lived here for fifty years.”

Ryan consulted his research, frowning slightly as the timeline unravelled within his mind. “Well, the last resident lived here in ‘83, so yeah, that’s about right.”

Shane nodded, mag-light dancing across the hollow beams of the parlour ceiling. As if on cue, a shrill creak whined through the vents. Instantly, the hairs on the back of Ryan’s neck rose to full attention, pulse stuttering beneath his skin.

“Did you hear that?”

“The creak? Yeah, just the house settling.” He rapped his knuckles twice against the gaudy, peeling wallpaper. “It’s got old bones, this one.”

Ryan must have made some small, disbelieving noise, because then Shane was looking at him with an exasperated look, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not ghosts, because ghosts aren’t real. You know what is real? Black mold; the chance of this thing caving in on us like an accordion; tetanus.”

Ryan scowled, shivering a little at the thought of the house closing around them, or some stray bat swooping down and nesting in their hair. “If you actually * listened * to the history of this place instead of touting your skeptic bullshit, you wouldn’t be giving me shit for thinking there might be spirits at play here.”

Shane let out a wheezing laugh, “ _‘Spirits at play’_ — oh _Ryan._ You do have a knack for isolating the single least threatening thing in these places we go to.”

“Shut up, Shane. You know what? I hope the ghosts hitch a ride on your lanky ass and put your money where your mouth is.”

“Flawless plan. Except ghosts aren’t re—“

He was cut off by a sudden surge of static, obnoxiously loud where it crackled from the small radio in Ryan’s hand. He grinned when Shane recoiled, letting out an indignant shout as his hands came to rest over his ears.

“What the _hell_ is  that?”

Nonplussed and feeling very self-satisfied indeed, Ryan set it down, watching Madej circle back around to the corner of the room, tentatively sitting across from him.

“It’s called a spirit box. It’s basically a radio tuner that scans radio frequencies. And what it does, is it scans radio frequencies at a rate of fifteen hundreds of a second. So every fifteen hundreds of a second, it skips to a new channel. And that creates a white noise that spirits are said to be able to manipulate to communicate with us.”

“And who says this?”

“Uh, paranormalists.”

“Uhuh.”

“And I know you’re going to say some bullshit about radio interference, but if it’s longer that fifteen hundreds of a second — so longer than two words, then we know...”

“That a spirit is trying to communicate with us,” Shane finished wryly, still rubbing at his ears.

Ryan shook his head with a huff of breath. “God, you just — just shut up.”

Cranking the dials up, the static got louder, and as Shane hissed, argument dying on his tongue and settling on a scowl, Ryan couldn’t help but feel triumphant.

*

Apparently, the spirit box _did_ work as some form of white noise, because by ten minutes, Ryan had almost ignored it completely. The same could not be said for Shane, who was curled away from it like its existence was a personal offence, griping quietly over the static.  Ghost-hunting, Ryan had reminded him, was somewhat of an art form, and took awhile to be perfected. He repeated this fact to himself as he scanned the channels for the umpteenth time, searching for more than two consecutive syllables.  Ryan believed in ghosts, but he was going to be sore about it if he spent over a hundred dollars on some gimmicky radio that didn’t even work.

“Minute ten of the spirit box,” Shane said dramatically, looking into his GoPro. “I can faintly remember what life was like before I had a radio squawking in my ear.”

Ryan batted it away as he turned it around to film him. “Can you just shut up for a second? We’re not going to hear anything if you’re bitching to me the entire time.”

“Hate to break it to you, Ry, but we’re not gonna hear anything regardless,” he furrowed his brows as Keith Urban’s voice crooked over the speaker. “Except for _Country Music HitsFM,_ apparently.”

Ryan opted to ignore him, in preservation of his own sanity. Somehow even Shane’s _silence_ was loud, long limbs stretched all over the place and knocking into things, too-pointy nose oppressive in Ryan’s peripheral.

“Think they got Jimmy Kimmel on this thing?”

Ryan rounded on him, floorboards creaking beneath them at the sudden movement. “For fuck’s sake, do you ever shut up? I’m serious, it’s like you can’t be quiet for one second.”

“Well I’m _sorry,_ Ryan, but I don’t particularly like spending my night talking to air. You know, you’re so—“

Ryan held up a hand, heart hammering in his chest, “Shut up.”

“No, no, I don’t think I will—“

_”Shane!” _ he hissed. “Shut up. Listen!”

Somewhere beneath the gush of static, a few syllables were warbled out, tentative and strained. Miraculously, Madej kept his mouth shut, scowling all the same as Ryan carefully tuned the spirit box.

“Hello?” he said slowly. “Is anyone there?”

He turned to Shane, standing up now, eyes locked in a strangely intimate way, moonlight casting an eerie glow across his face.

“My name’s Ryan. This is Shane,” he paused, squeezing his eyes shut at the name.  _ Don’t think about that right now, Ryan. If there was ever a time or place to think about indadvertedly hooking up with your coworker, in a haunted house wasn’t it. _

He cleared his throat. “Does anyone want to speak with us? You can use the radio to communicate. Take your time.”

He ignored Shane’s grumbled protest across from him and tried again. “Is there a Nancy in here? I know...I know you and your boyfriend Judas were hanging around here the night you went missing.”

He swallowed thickly, nerves firing like pistons beneath his skin. “Or were you murdered?”

The radio fell silent between them, hushed snippets of conversation drowned out by the static as it rifled through the channels. Realizing it was a bit of an ambitious ask for an amateur ghost-hunter, he back-pedalled into simpler grounds.

“Like I said, my name’s Ryan; this is Shane. Can you say either of our names back to us?”

For a minute, there was nothing but the quiet whirr of the radio and Ryan’s own hammering heart. He was considering throwing in the towel and admitting defeat when he heard the voice.

_ “Ry-an.” _

Like stepping into a warm shower in the middle of winter, for a moment, Ryan’s pulse seemed to halt altogether, blood running cold before his heart galloped to life, seeming to sear his muscles and writhe beneath him like a force of its own.  His hand closed around the mag-light, conking out for a moment and enveloping then in darkness. He yelped, the only sound his own ragged breaths and Shane’s soft, surprised laughter as he reached out and switched the spirit box off.  He would almost be grateful if he could believe for a second Madej hadn’t been waiting for an excuse to do that the whole night.

“Hey, man, it’s okay,” he said, hand closing around Ryan’s wrist, tone light and amused.

“Did you not fucking hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“She...she fucking said ’ _ Ryan.'  ” _

“Huh?”

“She said my fucking name, Shane, don’t tell me you didn’t hear that!”

“I heard two syllables that kind of sounded like ‘Ryan.’ I also heard something that could have sounded like ruh-uh.”

Ryan shook his head, still trembling slightly, and as Shane’s grip tightened around him, he realized they were still holding hands. Suddenly, the spirit box and potential ghosts haunting the house seemed infinitely less important, snatching his hand back and stumbling slightly as he moved towards the door.

“Whatever. When we review the footage for the V.O., you’ll see.”

Shane laughed, following him outside, radio tuner in hand. If he noticed the way Ryan’s cheeks flushed, he didn’t bring it up, probably attributing it to anger, which, in its simpler form, wasn’t entirely false. Ryan _was_ angry, but it wasn’t just about the ghosts.  They didn’t have as much equipment to pack in the trunk this time, Mark and Devon opting not to tag along this time — this part was best filmed on a GoPro-like camera. _Li_ _ ke a found footage film, _ Shane has said.

“If the ghosts get us, then we’ll have it on tape as they tear me limb from limb! Hey, Ryan, you think they’ll go all Blair-Witch on us?”

Ryan was seething at just the memory of it, white-knuckling the steering wheel as he sat in the parked car. Shane looked over, cocking a brow, “You gonna drive or are we trying to bait the ghosts.”

He grit his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut, if only to block that stupid face out of his peripheral. “Shut up. Just _shut up."_

“What’s gotten into you?” he laughed, but his imploring gaze told Ryan that this was a genuine inquisition. “You’re keyed-up, yeah, but not in your usual horny ghost-boner way. Are you  _ scared?" _

Ryan wanted to bang his head against the steering wheel.  _Horny. Ghost-boner. _ It was almost comically horrific with its irony, and Ryan was one minute from snapping completely if he didn’t just _shut up_ right this second.

“No, I’m not scared! Okay?”

And Ryan wasn’t. Whatever inkling of terror he felt in that haunted house didn’t light a candle to how he felt now. His head spun, skin hot and feverish as it flushed pink. His heart raced in his chest. It wasn’t love, but a serious nuisance, and that was even worse.  Ryan looked at his hands, tapping out a nonsensical beat on the dashboard.  _ God, even that was hot too.  _ His face was impossibly smug, favouring him with a lopsided grin that had something hot and needy clench deep in Ryan’s gut.

How do you gracefully say: _‘Hey, I know we’re in a group project now, but I think I came to the sound of your voice the other night and I can’t stop thinking about it and frankly, it’s driving me a little crazy‘_

Hint: you don’t.

“You sure? There’s no shame in being spooked, Ryan. But the ghosties can’t get to us here,” he grinned, leaning across the center console. “I’m ghost-proof,  _ baby." _

The teasing _'_ _ baby' _ was enough to send Ryan’s body reeling, a familiar, curious heat curling in his gut, creeping up his cheeks. His cock twitched against his thigh.

“Those teenagers were fooling around in those wheat-fields right behind us, you know. If there were any ghosts here, we’re right in their lap,” he said, eyes fixed on the side Ryan’s face, still grinning, voice lowered to a scant murmur, “You said you wanted some _compelling_ evidence?*”

Shane was stiflingly close, half-sprawled across the center console,breath fanning across his neck. Ryan could smell his cologne — woodsy and clean, feel his heat radiate through the mere inches between them. If Ryan turned his head, he could almost —

_ Kiss him. _ Shane was closing the space between them and _kissing him_ ,  and _holy fuck, Ryan was_ _ kissing him back. _

His beard scratched against Ryan’s lips, even irritating in his kisses, which he opened his mouth to say before realizing he _couldn't_ because _Shane's mouth_ was pressed hard against his own and stealing every wisp of breath fighting to escape his lungs.  Shane took it as an open invitation to deepen the kiss, hand hovering, unsure before settling on Ryan’s knee, pulling him closer as his tongue slipped into Ryan’s mouth, sliding slickly against his own.  The wet, fervent sounds echoed in the car, swallowed up by their mouths as Shane pressed against him almost bruisingly hard. Ryan’s lips weren’t the only thing that was aching, and as Shane moaned lowly between them, hand slipping further up his leg, his cock swelled inside his jeans.

It was too good — the heat of Shane’s palm flat against his thigh, long fingers just barely skirting his erection as he ravished him, trailing hot kisses down his neck. Ryan was more or less in his lap now, bent across the center console, hands tangling in Shane’s stupidly soft hair.  He let out a trembling moan, eyes squeezed shut as Shane sucked over a sensitive spot on his jaw, instinctively rutting up against him. The reaction was immediate, the taller man’s hands squeezing his hips, moaning out a strained, _"Baby."_

It was like being doused in cold water — Ryan recoiled instantly, sitting back against Shane’s thighs with wide eyes. * What was he doing?*  He felt that exquisite type of self-awareness that had a man wanting to crawl out of his own skin, far away from his inhibitions and poor judgement.

“Shane, _Shane—“_ he panted, dragging his hands off his skin where his shirt had been rucked up. It was too easy to give into his ministrations. “Jesus Christ, no! No, I —“

Shane paused, retracting his hands like he’s been burned. “Ryan, I don’t understand —“

And Ryan knew he didn’t, his expression so damn sincere it wrung at his heart, eyes big and rueful where they flickered between Ryan’s face and his own lap, as if he might burst into flames if he met his gaze.

“The fucking... _ phone sex _ _line,”_ he hissed, voice no louder than a whisper, even though there was no one but them on the deserted side street they were parked along. “That was _me,_ Shane. Jesus.”

Shane furrowed his brows, cutting a crease in between them that Ryan so badly wanted to smooth out with his thumb. He held back, hands trembling where they were balled up at his sides. And then, like dawn igniting the horizon, a horrific kind of realization flitted across his face.

“Ryan, I — I didn’t —“

“What?” he said a little hysterically, heart ramming against his ribs. “Didn’t know? Can’t pick me out from the rest of your  _ clients? ” _

He clambered off Shane’s lap, all but falling out the door. “Can’t recognize me unless I’m moaning your name?” His heart clenched like someone had closed their fist around it, throat tight and feeling supiciously like he was choking back tears. “I’m not going to be just another one of your hook-ups,  _Shane.” _

He spat out his name like a curse, which is exactly how it felt right now, and started back towards the road, ignoring Shane’s calls behind him. He thought he might melt against his chest, cave into his warmth if he came rushing down that gravel path and wrapped his hand around his wrist.  But he didn’t, and Ryan’s fingers trembled as he dialled a familiar number, streetlights blurred through the tears pricking at his eyes.

“Curly? I need you to come pick me up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're idiots, your honour,,,


	9. One-And-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _One-and-One- A play in which the person fouled shoots one free throw; if successful, the shooter takes a second shot._

The air had gone cool and bitter on the drive back to urban Los Angeles, matching his mood with striking resemblance. Moody grey clouds scowled over the horizon, and he couldn’t help but feel they had been watching, equally scorned by the interaction.  He wrung his hands, shaky where they gripped his phone, illuminated by the glowing white screen, Sara’s contact pulled up and his own muzzy text message glaring back at him.  He was frowning at a typo when the door swung open on its hinges.

_"Oh, Shane."_

Sara welcomed him into her apartment with open arms, expression immediately turning pitiful as her eyes fell upon his own, barely holding back tears. She led him to the couch — an almost comical sight seeing as she was a full foot shorter than him, but it seemed anything but funny now.

Shane went easily.

She left him there a moment, sparing a sideways glance down the hall, presumably looking for Kelsey. It was late — it had been pushing nine o’clock when they’d first arrived on location, and Shane had no idea how much time had passed since then. Shane was never one for hyperbole or dramatics, but it felt like forever.  She started the kettle, watching him run his hands through his hair, gathering his bearings. Shane was almost grateful for the few minutes of silence, giving him ample time to reign his emotions in, threatening to take off like a spooked horse. It was three minutes later that the kettle skirled, and by then Shane was feeling a little more composed. 

Sara placed a warm mug into his hands, holding them there for a moment — whether for comfort of out of fear he might drop it, he didn’t know. The steam rose and caressed his face. Across from him, she lowered the tea bag almost methodically, a thoughtful look on her face.

“You wanna tell me what happened?”

She was trying her best to keep her tone even and neutral, but he could tell she was jarred by the interaction, by the sight of Shane so visibly vulnerable in front of her. Like she had said to Ryan, Shane wasn’t exactly a _feelings_ kind of guy.  Maybe it was a Midwestern thing, though Sara would roll her eyes at that. Shane wasn’t known for his passionate declarations of emotion, and he most certainly wasn’t known for shedding tears on someone else’s couch. 

_”I’ll keep all my emotions right here...and then one day, I’ll die,” _ he remembered hearing in one of John Mulaney’s skits one time. 

_ ”That’s you,”  _ Sara had joked, elbowing him, and it had been particularly funny at the time.

It didn’t feel as funny right now.

Shane really didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to open the floodgates to air out a leak and potentially unleash a tsunami. He didn’t want to poke the matter — not even with a ten-foot pole like he sometimes dared. This felt different...important somehow.  Shane wanted to bury it down and lick his wounds in peace, but Sara’s sympathetic expression coaxed it out of him anyways.

“I...I made a mistake,” he said slowly, avoiding her gaze. It would be too much to look at her right now, to see her so intent and perceptive to the hunch of his shoulders, the rigidness of his hands around his untouched tea.

She didn’t interject; she was good like that — knowing what Shane needed without him ever really needing to voice it. She stayed quiet and brought the cup to her mouth.

“Ryan,” he said a little forcefully, the name catching in his throat. He had to pause a moment, gritting his teeth and pushing forward. “Him and I...we went back to that stupid farm to mess around with this spirit box thing, and I—“

He swallowed thickly, feeling Sara’s gaze trained on the side of his face, ducked toward his lap. “I kissed him, Sar.”

The brief moment of silence was almost deafening, Shane’s guilt and pity foisted upon him with the clammy hands of his own fear. He drew his eyes up to look at her, and saw nothing but sympathy in her eyes.

“And the worst part is he kissed me back. And the worst part is I didn’t regret it, and I still don’t,” he trembled, fingers clenching around the ceramic mug. “I would have kept doing it if...”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Oh, Shane,” she said softly, putting her cup down and closing the distance between them, sitting next to him on the couch, her hand finding the small of his back and beginning to rub slow circles across it through his shirt.  For a moment, he just sat there, trying not to disturb something tight and heavy in his chest — the onslaught of tears. He closed his eyes, focusing on the comfort of Sara’s gentle touch and the feeling of his hand against his cheek.

“He knew, Sara. He  _ knows. ” _

“Knows what?”

“About _me_ , about...fuck, about my  _job._ You should have seen his face, Sar, he...”

He groaned into his hand, exhausted tears threatening to spill over his cheeks.

“What did he say, exactly?” she said carefully, as if approaching a stray dog. Shane was too distracted to question it.

“Fuck, I don’t know. Something about not wanting to be just another hook-up.”

She was quiet for a moment, almost introspective, and so still that for a moment Shane wondered if he was having a  _ Sixth Sense _ moment, dreaming that she was there consulting him because it’s what he wanted to hear.

A quick sideways glance and bump of her knee distilled the theory completely, and she took a deep breath before speaking again.

“I don’t think...Look, I don’t think he meant it like that, Shane. I really don’t. I talked to him yesterday driving him back home from the party, and he seems like a good guy. More importantly, Shane, he seems like he _really_ likes you.”

He scoffed a little, cheeks flushing under his palm. He felt not unlike a third grader being told their crush talked about them on the playground.

“I’m serious, Shane. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and apart from the bickering, I think you two get along well. Don’t you agree?”

_ Yeah, I do, and that’s the while problem, _ Shane thought to himself.  _ We get along too well and now I can’t seem to get the guy out of my mind. _

Slowly, begrudgingly, he nodded, still feeling somewhat pitiful as he avoided Sara’s gaze. She sighed, patting his arm. 

“All I’m saying is don’t take what he said so seriously. Sometimes...sometimes people say things they don’t mean when they’re scared.”

Shane thought of Ryan in those woods, wide-eyed and jumpy at every little creak or groan around them. The way he’d stiffened against Shane in the car, pulse wild beneath his skin, talking fast and wild, like his head was ten feet ahead of his body.  _ It wasn’t disgust in his eyes,  _ Shane thought dizzily.  _ It was fear. Not fear of me, but fear of his won feelings and what they meant. _

Rubbing at his eyes, he let Sara push the mug back into his hands and to his mouth, mind insistently flitting back to Ryan Bergara, even as the tea leaves stared back at him from the bottom of the cup.

*

_ “Pobrecito míjo, _ tell Curly what’s wrong.”

Ryan was half-sprawled across his lap, face buried in the couch cushions as Curly fussed over him, a bejewelled hand running through his hair. Thankfully, Zach and Ned were in their rooms, Ryan free from their sure teasing for a few minutes.

Perhaps a little indulgently, he nestled closer into Curly’s leg, pushing up into the fingers running along his scalp.

“It’s...fuck, it’s Shane.”

Curly’s fingers halted in his hair for a moment, Ryan making a small noise of protest and spurring it back into motion, catching on a strand, almost like a subtle rebuke.

“The tall white man from the party?” he tsked quietly. “Yeah. He looks like he could ruin someone’s life.”

Ryan frowned against the couch. “I didn’t say that. But yeah, him.”

Curly tilted his head up so he was meeting his gaze, steely and protective, like a mother lion’s careful watch over her cub. “Do I need to go after the  _ pendejo _ _?_ Because I will, you know that,  _ mijo _ _,_ right? I would kill for you, all of you. Even Zach, Lord knows he can’t do it himself.”

Despite everything, Ryan almost laughed. Almost. He caught himself last minute, the sound snagging something in his chest on the way out. He shook his head, nearly dislodging Curly’s hand from it.

“No, no. It was my fault. I fucked up, Curly. Big time.”

Curly raised a brow — it wasn’t often that Ryan admitted defeat, especially not while living with two equally as competitive roommates. Ryan was jarred by it too, and would likely think it to be uncomfortable if he could push past the overbearing sense of guilt.  But of course, it wasn’t that simple, so he didn’t, sitting with that feeling and wondering how much of his heart Shane would grow to take up if it was already clenching at the mere thought of hurting him.

“Well, are you going to tell me what happened?”

At that moment, Zach strode in, and Ryan took a deep breath, speaking more to him that Curly, “You know that phone sex line you left me last week? Well, I called it. And...it wasn’t a girl that answered.”

Ryan shut his eyes, humiliating rushing in full force as he waited for the other shoe to drop.

It took all of five seconds. 

“Oh my god, don’t tell me —“

Ryan just nodded miserably, Zach’s eyes nearly bugging out of his head at the admission. He didn’t blame him — he probably hadn’t looked that different when he found out, though it was hard to tell with his head lurched over somebody’s shoes.

He grimaced at the memory.

“Wow,” Zach said. “So it was the same guy this whole time?” He whistled lowly, “What are the chances of that?”

“More than I though, apparently. Or I’m just the fucking luckiest guy in the world,” he sniped, groaning into the cushions.

_ God, what a mess. _

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Curly started, brows furrowed. “So you called a phone sex line Zach gave you and matched up with this hot guy and you liked it. And then you meet Shane and partner up with him for your class project and find out he’s the same guy you talked to on the phone?”

Ryan nodded.

“I’m not seeing the issue here. I mean yeah, it’s a little awkward, but it was just a one-time thing, right?”

Ryan went quiet, going very still on the couch, wishing he could just sink into it and let himself be swallowed up whole.

“Right, Ryan?”

“Two times,” he finally said, voice strained and thin as a rubber band.

“Two times?”

“Maybe three, I don’t know!”

_“_ _Mio dío, papi._ What a mess.*”  Curly was aghast, not quite unkindly as he stared down at him, holding his head.

“And then — fuck, and then he _kissed_ me, and it was so  _fucking good, _ and I...”

“Hold on. So you’re super into this sexy phone sex operator, and then you find out he’s in your class. He kisses you, you like it — what’s the issue here?”

Ryan’s cheeks were pink and guilty, heart racing in his chest as he said, “I liked it too much, okay? That’s the problem!” He sat up, running a hand through his hair, hands pressed to either side of his neck as he looked up at the ceiling, far away from his friends’ prying eyes.  “I liked it. And for some reason, the thought of him saying all those things to everyone else  _every single day?_ Fuck, it didn’t bother me before, but now every time I see him I’m just —“ he trailed off, gesticulating wildly.

“Oh my god,” Curly said suddenly, eyes gleaming. “You’re jealous.”

“What? I’m not —“

“You’re jealous,” he continued, pointer finger almost accusatory against his chest. “You’re jealous because you _like_ him and want him all to yourself.”

Ryan opened his mouth to protest before snapping it shut almost comically fast. _Holy shit ,_ Curly was _right._

“Oh, Ryan,” Curly tutted, “what are you going to do?”

_Like hell if I know, _he thought dizzily. _But I better figure it out soon._

*

Ryan wished he could say he strode onto that campus like some kind a white knight, bouquet in hand and heart on his sleeve. That’s not how it happened.

First of all, Shane wasn’t in class on Wednesday, simply texting: ‘sick’ and offering no further details. Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part, considering he had the guy’s tongue shoved halfway down his throat the day before, but Ryan doubted his ailment was physical.  He almost wished Shane, (and therefore, Ryan), did have a cold — it would justify his pinkening cheeks and watery eyes and jittery nerves as he watched the clock, scanning the room for the familiar tall figure.

He almost jumped when a hand fell down across his desk, half-expecting to see Madej’s grinning face beaming down at him, smug as ever as he pushed a coffee towards him. But it was just his professor handing out a breakdown of the grades.

Ryan sighed, letting his head fall against the desk.  _ It was going to be a long day. _

*

Ryan had fully intended to corner Shane in the V.O. booth first thing Thursday morning. He had it all planned out — get there before Devon and Mark and whisk Shane into that cramped room where he could lay it on the line.

That’s not what happened.

Apparently revelations exhaust you, and if Ryan sleeping through his alarm wasn’t damning enough, a transport truck had conveniently stopped on the freeway. By the time he got to the campus, Shane had already been sitting in the office for twenty minutes, mood visibly soured.

“Look who finally showed up,” he said dryly, looking sullen indeed, arms crossed over his chest where he was slumped into a desk chair.

And okay — Ryan deserved that.

“Sorry,” he huffed, shucking off his jacket as he made his way over, sitting in the seat adjacent to him, ignoring the way he stiffened beside him. “A Freightliner crashed on the freeway.”

Ryan purposefully chose to omit the small detail that he had also accidentally slept in. He didn’t need to be on the receiving end of _that_ vindication too. Shane seemed to squint at him almost appraisingly, as if he knew, but by the way his eyes slanted more than usual, Ryan chalked it up to a restless night.

_ Join the club _ _,_ he thought moodily, tearing his gaze away.

Devon seemed to sense the tension, eyebrows drawn against her forehead as he worried her lip between her teeth. She seemed to decide that whatever it was, she wanted no part, and like a dispatcher diffusing a live bomb, she nodded slowly, adjusting the cameras fixed on their set.  It wasn’t a bad set-up, Ryan thought. They had situated themselves in a stuffy office in the film quarters, an impressive bookshelf behind them, compensating for the cheap fold-up table functioning as a desk. Bright yellow light filtered through light shades, boom arm slipped over the metal rod.  Two tripods were situated around the table - one for longer shots and one for close-ups. There was also a few tasteful knickknacks scattered across the desk, including a small ghost figurine that would almost be funny if the tension weren’t so palpable. Shane tipped it over with a scowl.

“Alright, guys!” she said, forcefully cheery. “You ready to start filming?”

Ryan cast a sideways glance at the taller man. “Uh, yeah. I am. I was thinking...for this segment, of uh. Of the video. I was thinking we could call it Postmortem? Like, it’s kind of like an autopsy how we’re dissecting the episode.”

It was pretty clever — certainly one of Ryan’s better ideas, and he felt a quiet sense of pride about it. He thought Shane might find it witty or even impressive, and he was dying to hear his thoughts on it. He flickered his gaze to him, but no dice. He just shot him a dour look and slumped further in his chair.

“Nice one, Ryan!” Devon said, smile strained as she shot a concerned look at his co-host.

Another one of their cameramen, TJ watched him like a hawk, running a hand over his beard. He was Shane’s roommate, and apparently in the same major that they were. He had a similar look to Shane — in the sense they were both tall, handsome, and rocking a vaguely lumberjack-inspired look. 

The difference was TJ’s broad shoulders and steely gaze. Ryan shivered, * yeah, definitely not someone he wanted to get on his bad side.*

“You good, Shane?” he said. “You’re not feeling too sick still, right?”

The pointed look on his face told Ryan he maybe wasn’t as clueless to the situation as he made himself out to be, but Devon and Mark were still looking on, buying the ruse completely.

“Oh, Shane, we can reschedule if you’re feeling under the weather. We’re kind of on a tight schedule, but I can probably clear some time Monday before class...”

Devon was very clearly reworking a mental itinerary as she spoke, and Shane was quick to wave her off, looking a bit sheepish. “No, no. I’m fine. I don’t particularly want to spend my morning talking about air, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for the viewers.”

Devon laughed. Ryan didn’t, squirming in his chair.

They had prepared a list of questions — most of them about the EVP’s they heard on location. Or rather, ten minutes of Ryan trying to wrestle some kind of response out of Shane besides some snarky, disbelieving comment.  It would have been great — would have been fun, even. But the taller man didn’t look like he was in a particularly humorous mood, and his usual dry wit had staled to a bitter expression.

“Uh, alright,” he cleared his throat, camera’s red eye blinking back at him as the footage started to roll. “Welcome to Unsolved Postmortem. Today we’re going to be discussing our most recent case, which was the Mysterious Disappearances of Sycamore Ranch.

“Sycamore Ranch was the privately-owned lot of local farmer, James Sycamore. The property consisted of fifty acres of land, including wheat fields, cattle, and a farmhouse said to have harboured a dark past, or even restless spirits.”

He saw Shane roll his eyes in his peripheral, biting his lip before continuing, hand fisted on the knee of his shorts.

“The property was built in 1902, almost thirty years before James moved in, inheriting it from his dad, and ten years later, it became the home of another resident — his son, Judas. James was a single father, known to have a history of violence against women — notably, his ex wife, who went on to marry again.

“He was said to be an unstable man with a ‘fiery’ temper, according to Richard Miller, the county sheriff at the time. This will come up later as we get into the theories. 

“Now, let’s debrief the history of the location.”

*

Ryan relayed the same information he’d divulged to Shane earlier, settling into the role a little easier as he got more and more into it. It was really a fascinating story, and did wonders to take Ryan’s mind off the situation that had been foisted upon him last night, and the rigid man beside him.

It probably would have gone on without a hitch if Ryan hadn’t pushed his luck.

“I think there’s very obvious proof here that there’s a ghost. That’s three whole separate words, Shane! Three! That means that at least three radio frequencies had to meld together to create that sentence.”

“It’s  _ syllables,  _ Ryan. Go on SoundCloud and half the tracks on there sound like your so-called ‘proof.’ “

“Maybe you’re just being close-minded!”

“ _I'm_ being close-minded?”

“Yes!”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

Ryan flinched, breath stuttering in his chest for a minute, constricting painfully. It wasn’t a playful jab at Ryan’s diverging beliefs, but genuine anger at him. It was like a slap across the face, and an unsettling silence fell over them.

“Have you ever considered that maybe I see things differently than you?”

“Have _you_ ever considered that?”

“Yes! I consider that all the time because every time I think I have compelling evidence, you brush it off!”

Shane scoffed.

“See? Would it kill you to not be an asshole?”

“Oh, so _I’m_ the asshole now?”

“Yes! You never listen to me! Do you ever consider that maybe I have something important to say?”

Shane rounded on him quicker than a fist soaring through an uppercut, motion just as jarring. His eyes were heated, smouldering brown like a a fire’s kindling, voice low and chastening.

“Do you ever consider that maybe I have something important to say, Ryan? Do you?” he scowled at Ryan’s awestruck expression, pushing out of his chair with a deafening squeak. “You know what? Don’t answer that. I already know you don’t.”

“Shane,” Devon said softly, reaching after him. He shrugged her off, stalking out of the room. “I’m done, Dev. Use whatever footage we have, whatever. I’m done.”

Devon let him go, watching with worried eyes as he strode towards the door, heavy aluminum door slamming open almost violently.

In the short time Ryan had known Shane, he had quickly figured out that he didn’t carry his heart on his sleeve, or even his pocket. He shoved it deep down inside and kept it on a tight leash. He wasn’t exhaustingly emphatic like Ryan, doesn’t just blow up without reason or preamble.

Unless it’s _important_ to him.

And maybe that’s what propelled Ryan forward, out of the desk and past Devon, TJ, and Mark. Devon stopped him by the door, eyes wide and cheeks flushed as if she’d just been struck across the face.

“Ryan, are you sure this is a good decision? He seems pretty mad.”

He sighed, “Not nearly the worst decision I’ve made this week. I’ve gotta go make it right.”

With a willful look, she loosened her grip on his arm, hesitant disbelief flickering over her face for just a moment before she let him go, watching Ryan stride down the hall. She seemed to make a small noise of protest, as if trying to reel him back in, but he was already out of earshot.

She couldn’t stop him if she tried.

Shane was walking slowly down the hallway, in that rigid, shuffling way you moved when you were trying to forget you exist. It only took a few running strides before he caught up, snaring him by the wrist and dragging him into the V.O. booth.

“Ryan, what the fuck —“ he said, but all fight was drained from his voice as he slumped back against the closed door.

“I know, I fucked up. Just...hear me out.”

Shane didn’t say anything, but he didn’t offer any resistance besides a slight frown, and Ryan took that as permission to continue.

“That was a dick move, I’m sorry,” he started.

“Yeah, it was.”

“I know, I know. It wasn’t fair of me to say that when I had equal part in what we were doing. It wasn’t fair of me to say that when I knew what I was getting myself into.” He paused, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to collect himself. “And I shouldn’t have pulled away. Not when I —“

Shane was looking at him curiously now, and then it was Ryan ducking his head. God, he was twenty one, for fuck’s sake. Why did he feel like a middle-schooler asking their crush to the school dance?  He cleared his throat, trying not to notice the way Shane’s long legs stretched out in front of him, slender body leaned against the door, arms folded across his chest. He pushed away the memory of Shane’s cologne, his body warm against Ryan’s own.

_ Focus, Ryan. _

“I hacked it, okay?” he said, mouth suddenly dry as Shane stared at him almost thoughtfully. “I thought we were playing one-on-one, you know? But I’m fine playing 21 or doubles or — whatever you want. I just...I want you in my court.”

“I have no idea what any of that meant.”

Of course. That’s what Ryan gets for falling for someone’s who’s never watched a game of basketball in his life. He thought of Shane’s stupid dry jokes, the guarded look on his face right now. And he thought maybe everyone finds ways to hide how they really feel, when it comes down to it.  Ryan had stepped into a literal haunted house this week, and yet — somehow, saying those next words were the bravest thing he’s ever done.

“I like you, Shane. Even with your skeptic bullshit.”  _Don’t divert the conversation, Ryan. Be genuine._ “I like you. And I want you...close to me, even if that means sharing you with every other horny person on the West Coast.”

When he finally mustered the courage to look up, a smile was tugging at Shane’s lips as he stepped closer, “Ryan, you really do have a knack for saying what you mean in the most complicated way possible, you know that, right?”

Ryan laughed, trying not to focus on the way Shane was crowding his space, the way he wanted to close the distance between them and kiss him right on the mouth and run his fingers through his hair.

“I know.”

Shane hummed, body loosely bracketing him against the V.O. booth’s wall. He placed a long finger under his chin, tilting his head up to meet his gaze, eyes sparkling in a way that made Ryan’s heart clench in his chest.

“You’re not planning on dragging me to another haunted house this weekend, are you?”

Ryan laughed, shaking his head, leaning into the hand cupping his cheek, flushed and warm as the fingers grazed his skin. It was oddly intimate, somehow almost more intimate than the kiss.

“No, no more spirit box.”

“Well, good,” he smiled, seeming satisfied as he teasingly chucked Ryan under the chin before retracting his hand, pausing in the doorway as he swung it open. “You have plans anyway?”

He furrowed his brows, “I do?”

“Yeah. Dinner with me Friday night,” he said smoothly, pinning him with a lopsided grin. Ryan’s surprise must have shown on his face, because then he was looking away a bit sheepishly, adding, “If you want to, I mean.”

The gesture was endearing, seeing the suave, unflappable Shane who had taken Ryan apart with just his words many times before, look so _shy_ asking him out to dinner. His face was tinged pink, creeping down his neck in a way Ryan would have easily watched for hours, but it was the nervous shuffling of his feet that snapped him back to reality.

“Yes!” he said a little forcefully, Shane grinning as his cheeks went rosy. Ryan took a minute to recalibrate, wheezing a little. “I mean, yes. Yes, I’d like that.”

Shane visibly relaxed, that goofy smile still plastered to his lips. Ryan wanted to kiss it right off. “Great, I’ll pick you up at seven?”

Something about the finality of it all stoked that fire steadily blooming in Ryan’s heart, enveloping him in a ridiculous warmth, practically giddy as he looked Shane with so much affection it was nearly sickening.

_ ”It’s a date.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ryan: https://images.app.goo.gl/QUcBFUYXFRWhCMb78
> 
> Shane: https://images.app.goo.gl/yshNmANB6PKTNbMeA
> 
> ____
> 
> 1\. _"Pendejo"_ \- Bitch
> 
> 2\. _“Mio dío"_ \- Oh my God


	10. Slam Dunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Slam Dunk- Where the player dunks with great force or agility ; a serendipitous or successful event_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"Were you ever so in love  
>  You couldn't wait to get to sleep and dream  
> About the one you wish was there beside you  
> In the past few days I've grown  
> To love your giggles on the phone  
> And how we hug so nicely" _  
> 
> 
> -Hall and Oates, _Had I Known You Better Then_

The rest of the Postmortem went by in a breeze, the two of them in suspiciously high spirits after they strode back into the office. If Devon and the crew noticed, they didn’t mention it.

“Ouch, ouch! That’s my neck you’re yanking there, Rubin!”

Sara was perched on her tiptoes in Shane’s apartment, fussing with a tie like an overbearing mother on prom night. Shane was hunched over in front of her, half-accepting his life as a newly crippled man when she released him, sliding off the tie on a second thought.

“Remind me next time I dress you that ties are for weddings and graduation ceremonies only.”

Shane huffed out a laugh, retreating back to his full standing height with a satisfying pop of his back. “What if I want to be a fancy man?”

She grinned, folding up the small strip of fabric and walking across the room to place it back in his dresser. “Pretty sure that title already belongs to Steven.”

“Did you hear what he did for his film project? Shot some kind of food series with Andrew Ilnickyj called ‘Worth It.’ “

“Oh yeah, I heard about that. Apparently they even managed to get a budget for it.”

Shane rolled his eyes, doing up the buttons of his shirt — the pink one that Sara said flattered him. “If I knew Ryan and I could have gone on expensive dates instead of hunting ghosts, I would have chosen that instead.”

Sara smiled. “Are you nervous?”

Shane put on a dumb look, stalling for time as his heart took a running leap in his chest like an olympian pole-vaulter. “About the ghosts? Nah. Think we extinguished them with that god-awful spirit box.”

She closed their wide berth, leaning in to smooth down his hair, which had already begun to stick up, despite Shane’s best efforts and the copious amounts of gel pushed through the strands. On the best of days, he looked fashionably rumpled; on the worst, he could be mistaken for a third-grader who’s paper volcano experiment had gone gravely awry.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Sara clucked her tongue at him. “When are you going to start admitting you have emotions sometimes?”

“Never. My emotions are between me our good pal J.C.”

“You’re not even religious, Shane.”

“Amn’t I?” He grinned, tapping his chin like he was deep in thought, his ruffled hair giving the impression he’d never had one in his life. _Dammit,_ he hissed, patting it down in the mirror with his hands. “Guess I’ll just take it to the grave.”

Sara didn’t humour him — oftentimes she didn’t, when Shane was being particularly obtuse or evasive. “Well, you should really reconsider that, because Ryan Bergara wears his heart on his damn sleeve. He nearly cried over a baby squirrel on the side of the road when I drove him home.”

Shane stifled a laugh at the imagery — a very drunk, uninhibited Ryan Bergara getting weepy over woodland creatures while Sara watched on, baffled. But with that amusement rose a painful sense of warmth that felt suspiciously like fondness, coming to a crescendo somewhere between his throat and ribs and clenching around his heart.

“I would pay to see that.”

“I’ll bet you would. If you play your cards right, maybe you will — there’s more than one cute, helpless squirrel in the world.”

“A tragedy.”

Sara rolled her eyes, ”Start with dinner.” She checked her phone, smiling at the screen. “Speaking of — don’t you have a date to be getting to?”

She turned her phone towards him, revealing Ryan’s contact and a message from him sent five minutes ago. He was wearing a navy blue button-up, grinning at the screen, baring those blinding white teeth that Shane had since grown to endear. His hair seemed more styled than usual, pushed off his forehead, save for a small, tasteful curl at the side of his temple.  His dark eyes glittered, even through the image, seeming to dance and sparkle with that perpetual glee he carrier about him. Some people bask in the warmth of the sun — Ryan Bergara seemed to emit it.

_‘Should I be on the look-out for a seven-foot tall Sasquatch, or is he gonna keep a man waiting?’_ the text read, wry tone audible, even through the screen.

Shane shook his head in disbelief, but a smile inched its way up his lips nonetheless. Fussing with his shirt collar for another minute, he took a deep breath, pocketed his phone and sending the mirror a wink. 

Sara grinned, swatting him lightly on the chest, all but dragging him to the front door and out of the apartment. “Go get ‘em, tiger!”

*

Shane had showed up at seven o’clock on the dot, the doorbell echoing imposingly through the condo, Curly freezing against him as he fussed with his hair.

Eyes glinting with his typical scheming mischief, he took off towards the door, Ryan yelping and chasing after him, footsteps thundering across the floor as he grabbed him by the back of the shirt. He was already anticipating the noise complaints.  Luckily for Ryan, while Curly had a solid inch on his height, he made up for it with less muscle density. Shoving him out of the way, he intercepted the door before his roommates could, fully intending to make a break for it before one of them said something embarrassing.  And he would have, really, if the sight that greeted him didn’t have make his brain short-circuit. There, on his steps, was Shane, looking handsome as ever in tight jeans and that pink button-up that looked sinfully good rolled up to his elbows. He seemed to have attempted something with his hair too, falling across his forehead in a boyishly tousled manner.

_ God, if it didn’t look good. _

Ryan was considering saying ditch the dinner and ravaging him right then and there on the doorstep, but then Shane spoke and interrupted his thoughts.

“I’ll have you know this Sasquatch is perfectly punctual,” he grinned, and _oh wow,_ that was attractive too when he wasn’t so smug.

For a minute, Ryan just stared, dumbfounded. _Huh? What?_ His brain pontificated intelligently. _God, how could something so infuriatingly obtuse come in such a pretty package?_ And then, in a holy bid for not making himself out to be a complete fool, he remembered his texts to Sara. She must have passed the message along — hopefully sparing the more doting ones for the sake of Ryan’s ego.

“Seven o’clock, right on the dot,” Ryan said nervously, still leaning between either side of the doorjamb, if only to keep his roommates from storming over.

Shane winked, “You know it, _baby_."

It was just a casual term of address, the ‘e’ sound long and comical and strikingly resembling Austin Powers. And yet, Ryan’s heart fluttered in his chest like a damn butterfly.  If Shane noticed his swiftly reddening cheeks or the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he trailed the taller man’s body with no sense of shame, he didn’t bring it up, simply saying, “You ready to go?”

Ryan nodded, breaking out of his reverie as he followed him to the car, ignoring him roommates’ gaze lingering on them as they walked down the steps and onto the street. Shane smiled knowingly, extending a hand in a wave before settling it across the small of Ryan’s back, leading him to the passenger seat.

_ Fuck, he was so hot. _

“After you, sir,” he cracked in an overly pompous voice, holding the door open for Ryan to slide in. His back brushed against Shane’s chest — broad and warm as he ducked into the car, and he tried not to think about the way it sent a delicious shiver down his spine, pinning him with an amused look of his own.

“What a gentleman.”

Shane shrugged faux-modestly, like a loyal butler fulfilling his professional duties. “Only the best for my date.”

Tossing a wink his way, he shut the door, rounding the bonnet of the car through the windshield and sliding into the driver’s seat, long legs tucked beneath the steering wheel as he turned to grin at Ryan.

“Let’s Rock and Roll, buckaroo!”

*

Ryan followed Shane out of the car, jogging a little to match his pace. The early spring air was pleasantly warm and mild around them, even as the sun lazily slid toward the horizon like wax off a candle. A gentle breeze ruffled through the air, breezing past distant palm trees wrapped in small yellow lights.

In fact, those same lights seemed to sprawl across the patio, wound around the wrought-iron fence and the wooden beams of the awning, a soft orange light poring through the glass doors as waitresses whisked in and out through the tables.  The skyline was just scarcely visible in the distance, just enough to paint a neon blur through the sky, apartment windows glittering like stars as the sky smouldered orange. Shane sidled up to a small counter, where a dark-haired woman was seating customers, her scarlet smile charming and kind as she greeted them, Shane’s hand once again finding the small of his back.

It was a simple touch — just barely a press of fingertips against his spine. But one Ryan had quickly grown to appreciate. He sighed contentedly, subtlety leaning into the touch, fighting the urge to press his back into Shane’s chest, just inches behind him. To lean into that steady warmth and feel his heartbeat against his skin, to wind his hand between his and grasp it tight and sure.  Instead, he smiled sidelong at him as he charmed the hostess, who looked quite taken indeed as she lead them through the tables, seating them at one facing the boulevard, slightly secluded by the graceful congregations of palm trees and vines toppling from the trellis.

A small candle sat in the middle of the tablecloth, flame bleaching the white material as it spluttered to life in its glass encasing. Soft music trailed from within the restaurant, impossibly romantic. It was straight out of a scene from those cheesy rom-coms Ryan would never admit to liking.  It wasn’t until Shane spoke that Ryan realized he hadn’t spoken a word since they got out of the car.

“Is this okay?” he asked, sounding slightly nervous as they approached the table. He had his hands tucked into his pockets, head bowed, looking like a teenager on his first date.

From this angle, hair falling over his clean-shaven face bathed in a soft yellow glow, he looked impossibly younger, boyish charm almost striking as he peered down at Ryan shyly.

Sara’s words echoed in his mind:  _“Shane, he...he doesn’t always express his thoughts or feelings in a clear way. He’s always been kind of weird about that, at least as long as I’ve known him._ _Anyways, he’s a good guy. It’s...it’s nice to see him making friends and putting himself out there a lot. Shane, he...he’s not one to just throw himself around, you know? He doesn’t hang out with just anyone.”_

There was so much Ryan wanted to say, so much Ryan wanted to ask: _why me?_ But he settled on pinning Shane with the most brilliant smile he could muster, beaming up at him and hoping his gratitude showed in the sparkle of his eyes.

“Shane...it's _beautiful."_

And it really was — Shane had brought him to a quaint Italian restaurant, vineyard fresh and local, aged vintage wines nestled in the wire racks, poured into delicate glasses as couples filed in.  The taller man looked a little sheepish, pulling Ryan’s seat out for him before rounding the small table to sit across from him, the waitress filling their glasses with water before leaving them to their own devices with a smile.

“You’re not too cold are you? I know you Californian lilies can’t handle a breeze.”

Ryan squawked out a laugh that might have been embarrassing if Shane wasn’t looking at him so solicitously, equal parts indignation and disbelief in his voice as he said, “I’m not a _lily,_ And it’s not even that cold!”

“You sure?” he cajoled. “Cause I got a jacket in my car if you are.”

It was obviously a set-up; Ryan says yes and has to spend the rest of the night hearing about how if he’d grown up in the Midwest like Shane instead of Arcadia, California, that he’d have a higher cold tolerance.  But the idea of being swathed in Shane’s worn denim jacket was unfairly enticing, and even as he rolled his eyes, he wish he would have taken up up on the offer. From the thoughtful look on Shane’s face, it seemed like he did too.  In the end, Ryan’s pride won, and Shane reclined in his seat, arms stretched above his head in a way that had him transfixed on the small triangle of pal skin where the shirt rode up, and the smooth line of his collarbones where the collar slipped down his chest. He feigned a stretch, grinning as if he knew exactly what Ryan was thinking and then leaned forward across the table, candle flickering soft light across his face.

“I have to hand it to you,” Ryan said, mouth suddenly dry as he absentmindedly gazed around, determined to look anywhere but Shane’s twinkling eyes. “This is really nice. Not bad for a Sasquatch.”

Shane laughed at the familiar jab, the sound low and soft and enveloping Ryan in a persistent warmth. “Oh yeah? You gonna let this Sasquatch show you all the sights L.A. has to offer?”

Ryan ignored the way it seemed to allude to a second date — if only to tame the blush rising to his cheeks as his resolve crumbled. “If anything, I probably know the city better than you. You’re from the Midwest, I’ve lived here all my life.”

“Mhm, Midwest represent! Born under the bean, _baby."_ He tapped him on the hand, a useless gesture that sent shockwaves up Ryan’s rotator cuff and butterflies swimming in his chest. “You’ve never lived until you’ve seen a Chicagoan winter.”

He looked almost kiddish like this, eyes sparkling as he talked about his hometown. If he wasn’t so purposefully obnoxious about it, Ryan would even find it endearing. Swatting him with the menu, Ryan clucked his tongue.

“Shut up, Shane,” he said, but his eyes softened on the last syllable, and as he looked up at him, Shane was smiling brightly, lighting up the whole sky.

*

As far as first dates go, it went by remarkably smoothly. Part of that probably had to do with the fact they had already been co-hosts and partners for two weeks — spending excessive amounts of time with each other in cramped spaces with low lighting was nothing new. But of course it _was_ different. Instead of mag-lights casting an eerie glow over the room, candles bathed it in soft orange light. Banter continued easily, but it was laced with fondness, and as it came to its eventual halt, annoyed side-glances turned to soft ones, and Ryan felt his heard seize in his chest. The food was amazing, and they’d chased it down with two glasses of wine, Shane laughing softly when Ryan got I.D’ed by an apologetic waitress.

_ "It’s not my fault I have good genetics!" _ he’d hissed, kicking Shane’s leg under the table.

_”Sir, you like your wine in a sippy-cup or a bendy straw?”_ he teased, taking a swill of chardonnay.

_ ”How about my fist in your mouth, huh, Long Legs?” _

Shane looked more amused than surprised by the proposition and took it in stride like the smooth bastard that he was. _”_ _ As much as I’d love a knuckle sandwich, we just had dinner. What about dessert?” _

And that’s how they’d ended up with impressive amounts of tiramisu between them, and focusing, Ryan realized, was hard when there was a handsome man in front of you with whipped cream smeared across the side of his mouth.  Shane had caught him staring, shooting him one of those terrible winks before his tongue darted out to lick it away easily, something hot and curious curly in the base of Ryan’s gut.

_ He’d never wanted to get laid by someone so much. _

And that sentiment made an ungraceful reappearance now, sprawled across Shane’s living room couch, hardly watching the screen in front of them, even though _The Thing_ was inarguably his favourite movie of all time.

During the dinner, they had gotten into the natural topic of movies, and as it turns out — their preferences were strikingly similar. And then Shane had casually mentioned that he recently got a director’s cut copy of _The Thing_ and it would be a crime not to see it. And who was Ryan to argue with logic like that? So he went willingly, heart hammering in his chest as they pulled into the car park and turned the key to Shane’s apartment.

Only, they had ended up actually _watching_ the movie, mere inches apart and yet turned away from each other, knees nearly grazing as they sat tucked underneath him.

It wasn’t until Norris’ chest split open like a diverging cliff, Copper’s hands getting trapped in the needle-like gashes of his entrails, that Ryan decided enough was enough.  He cut the subtlety and let himself do what he really wanted — staring unashamedly at the side of Shane’s face, the curve of his jaw flexing as he turned to meet his gaze, smiling wryly.

“Need something, Bergara?”

_Yeah,_ Ryan thought dizzily. _ You on top of me like, right now._

And oh, how cruel was Ryan’s traitorous mind, spurring along thoughts like that when Shane was just an arm’s length away, lap open and waiting and practically demanding him to crawl right into it.

He swallowed thickly, forcing his gaze away in fear he might actually combust into flames.

_ Here lies Ryan Bergara: remembered without dignity as the first man to literally die from horniness. _

“You’re annoying.”

Shane honked out a laugh, chest rumbling as he slapped his hand over it, fingers curling in the couch cushions as he tilted his head back, revealing the smooth column of his neck. Ryan wanted to push him down and run kisses all over it.

“I’m being _annoying?_ I’m not doing anything!”

Ryan huffed, wondering if he looked as petulant as he felt, slumping down in his seat, pouting slightly. Frankly, he didn’t care, his only thought being  _ nowyesShanepleasenow. _

“That’s the _problem."_

Shane wasn’t a stupid man, nor was he blind to the full-body flush creeping down Ryan’s neck or the way his pants were tented slightly where his legs were sprawled against the couch. But he also wasn’t going to make the first move, Ryan realized belatedly.

_ Oh, fuck. _

He looked at Shane’s stupid face, watched the way his stupid hair curled at the nape of his neck and ignored how stupidly hot he looked stretched across the couch. His eyes zeroed in on his lips, parted slightly and drawn in a wry smile as he waited for Ryan to snap.

_ Three, two— _

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he groaned, holding his face in his hands. “I want to kiss you. A lot. God help me, but I do.”

Looking over, Shane still carried that smug demeanour about him, but the slight flush of his cheeks betrayed him, matching the soft pink shirt pulled across his chest.

“Why don’t you then? Kiss me.”

Ryan didn’t know if that last part was an order or a clarification, but it sent his mind spinning, bracing himself on the armrests like a tiger ready to pounce.

“Because if I start I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“Then don’t stop,” he said. “What are Friday nights for if not for smooching and debauchery?”

“Mhm.”

_“ ‘Millennials are ruining the first date industry.’ “_ Shane joked, a little breathless, Ryan already halfway across the couch.

Ryan straddled him, leaning in close with a sigh as his hands landed on his waist. “Shame.”

And then he was leaning in, one hand gripping his shoulder and the other secured on the couch as he pressed their lips together, the sound soft in the stillness of the room. Shane’s hands squeezed his hips, as if to check he was there and this was really happening. They parted for a moment, nose-to-nose, breaths mingling between them and their parted lips.  And then they were surging back in, falling into each other like collapsing stars as Shane lowered his back to the couch, climbing on top of him and running a long finger down his chest, feeling each beat of Ryan’s heart as it raced under his skin.

And _oh,_ Ryan had missed this. Missed having someone pressed against him, no distance between them — sharing space, sharing breaths, breathing into each other as if were one person. He laced his fingers through Shane’s hair and got lost in the feeling of his hands skirting down the taut muscles of his stomach, pulling him closer, thumbs brushing over his skin where his shirt had been rucked up.

He shivered as the cool air hit his skin, Shane’s fingers spanning over it almost apologetically, though Ryan could feel him smile into the kiss. Nothing, apparently went passed Shane. He could practically hear the teasing remarks already:

_ ”You West-Coast Californians don’t know about real cold. Ever seen a Midwestern winter?” _

Ryan bit down on his lower lip almost chasteningly, Shane’s muffled yelp of surprise buzzing against his mouth as he took advantage of his parted lips and and slid his tongue between them. The pay-off was almost immediate, a low moan echoing from the taller man’s chest as he slumped further into Ryan, tilting his head as he deepened the kiss.

The arm that wasn’t cupping Ryan’s jaw was propped against the couch, holding him up as he stroked a thumb across his cheek, tongues sliding wetly in tandem, legs tangled at the end of the too-small couch. It was entirely ungraceful and clumsy and exactly what you would expect from two horny college students desperate to get close to someone.

And it was _perfect._

Shane’s neat beard scratched against Ryan’s lips as they came together in a slow, heated drag, leaving a delicious friction Ryan couldn’t help but imagine settling between his thighs. His cock twitched with interest at the thought, and despite the kiss-bitten state of his lips, he pressed them bruisingly hard against Shane’s, running a hand through that stupidly soft hair.  There was only so much air a person’s lungs had, however, and Ryan was already dipping dangerously low into the reservoirs when they parted, head spinning as Shane broke away. He didn’t have too long to miss him, however, because then he was nosing under Ryan’s jaw and trailing a heated path down his neck, propping Ryan’s up on either side of him and settling between his thighs.

It was deliciously hot, the slight stubble of his jaw grazing Ryan’s Adam’s apple as it bobbed in his throat, lips leaving tender bruises just barely out of sight. He settled at a particularly sensitive spot just below his ear, tongue laving over the skin as he sucked a mark there, breath fanning over his neck as he pulled away, examining his work and biting Ryan’s earlobe once, teasingly.

They had done nothing more than kiss, but Ryan was already a mess underneath him, flushed and panting as his kisses drew lower, palms smoothing down his chest, shivering at the touch. He keened a little as Shane’s thumbs brushed over his hardening nipples, sensitive and peaked as they pushed through the thin material of his shirt.  He angled his hips up slightly, rutting against one of the legs slid between his thighs, breathless at the sweet relief. He probably could have come like that — embarrassingly fast as he dry humped him, lips scarcely parting, only to put his mouth to use elsewhere.

But then Shane was drawing back, eyes fluttering shut against his flushed cheeks, gripping the sides of the couch like a man who’s restraint was facing the ultimate test. Ryan couldn’t help but feel proud.

“I really like you, Ryan,” he said honestly, and  _wow, that’s not what he was expecting to hear_.  He took a slow breath, gaze overwhelmingly intent and fixed on Ryan’s eyes. “I don’t...I don’t want to rush you, if you don’t — I’d understand if —“

Ryan’s brain finally caught up to what he was trying to say, the man very clearly conflicted above him, gaze darting between his lips and Ryan’s eyes, throat bobbing as he swallowed.  Ryan just hooked an arm around his neck, pulling him down with ease and pressing a self-indulgent kiss, probably too gentle, against his lips. It was chaste and over within a few seconds, but it had his heart flipping over in his chest. Shane looked down at him in visible disbelief, almost awestruck.

“I like you, Shane. And...” he dragged a hand down his chest, heaving slightly where it was hovering over Ryan’s own. “I want you. And I want you to want me, and I want to _feel_ you.”

Shane screwed his eyes shut, breathing raggedly, like he was trying to hold back his faltering inhibitions. Ryan slid a hand down to his belt, feeling the cool press of the buckle against his palm, dragging it lower until he was cupping the front of Shane’s jeans.

“Please?”

He felt it instantly — the twitch of his cock against his zipper-fly, the rush of breath pressed against his neck, Shane’s hands slipping under his thighs and the _holy shit —_ _ lifting him off the couch _

Ryan yelped, clambering for a grip, tightening his legs around his waist, scrabbling around him like he might fall. But Shane’s grip was tight and secure, hands spanning across his ass as he walked them into his room, lips only parting when Ryan fell back against the mattress.  For a moment, he just watched, laid out on Shane’s bed — which was way softer than his, eyes fixed on the leanness of his body as he reached down with slender fingers and pulled his shirt over his head. His ribcage protruded slightly, hard and strong where it stuck out against soft, pale skin, chest heaving slightly as he looked back at Ryan with a playful smile.  He probably looked far too enamoured — head propped against his hand as he took in the sight; Shane’s hair tousled and wild where it fell towards his temples, cheeks flushed a gentle pink. 

“Hey,” he said a little breathlessly, because it was all he could manage.

His heart raced in his chest.

“Hey,” Shane parroted back with a smile, looking amused as Ryan reeled him in, pulling him atop his own bare chest — shirt long since ditched and halfway across the room.

He sighed contentedly. This, Ryan thought, Shane’s bare chest flush against his own, bodies tangled like puzzle pieces — he could get used to that. And he probably could have been satisfied with that — just cuddling right there on Shane’s bed, with him draped across Ryan like a blanket, if it weren’t for the bulge poking against his thigh.  He moaned softly, leaning up to press his lips to Shane, his hand running down his chest and stomach until it made contact with his belt. And then he slid lower, gently cupping the erection straining against the front of his jeans, revelling in the slight shudder above him.

They broke apart with a small sound, loud in the quietness of the room. It was painfully intimate, Shane flushed above him, pupils blown out as a small breath escaped his parted lips— gloriously kiss bitten and red.

“Yeah?” he said breathlessly, eyes flickering to Ryan’s mouth, as if he was scarcely restraining himself from pressing his lips to it again.

“Yeah, Big Guy,” he murmured, squeezing him again softly as he wrapped a hand around his neck, stroking over the soft hairs cresting the nape as he drew him down into another kiss.

Kissing Shane was like nothing Ryan had ever experienced, in a kiss or otherwise, and that was a hell of a thought. He tasted like anyone did— warm skin and the kind of heat that was universally _human._ But there was more to it too.

He tasted like the first jag of fear when he stepped into a haunted house; heart pounding against his ribcage, blood roaring in his ears. Every brush against his skin amplified as he shivered, somewhere between frightened and aroused. Dilated pupils; trembling fingers; that distinct, overwhelming feeling that he was staring down the face of something uncertain and new, and the exhilaration of taking the first step towards it. 

He tasted like Friday nights; popcorn just the way he liked it — buttery and smooth: old horror movies that had him clutching the armrests of the couch, still good after all that time; sicks packs of beer that left him fuzzy and warm and content.  He tasted of morning coffees over too-early classes; the sleepy warmth of his eyes, hair tousled and soft where it curled at the nape of his neck. Tasted of smug smiles when Ryan pinned him with an exasperated look, fondness seeping through the facade of annoyance as he scooted imperceptibly closer.

He tasted of each witty comment; the quick, clever ones; the slow, sarcastic ones that had Ryan’s eyes rolling to the back of his head. And the low, sultry ones that stoked a fire in the pit of Ryan’s gut and had his toes curling in his socks, flushed all the way down the length of his body.  But most of all, he tasted like Shane— young and handsome and so attractive it almost hurt; new and exciting like a brand new car Ryan couldn’t wait to get his hands all over, and yet so damn familiar as he lay in a tangled mess of limbs and warmth with Ryan’s own.

He was high off the sensation, humming dreamily into his mouth, clutching at the back of his shirt in a futile attempt to pull him closer than he already was. They broke apart after a minute— out of necessity rather than want. But they didn’t pull away, lips pressed together as they met each others’ dazed eyes, sharing breaths as they panted into each others’ mouth.  Shane had swelled impressively beneath his hold, affirming that he was, in fact, proportionate all over. The fact send a delicious shiver down Ryan’s spine, and he swallowed thickly, cock aching in the confines of his own jeans.

“I wanna...can I suck you off?” he breathed, feeling a promising twitch against his palm.

Shane made a noise like a man dying that would almost be alarming if he didn’t dip his head into the junction of Ryan’s shoulder, moaning out a response. “God, yes please. Are you, are you sure—“

Ryan pushed his chest with the flat of his palm, pushing him onto his back easily. Shane might have had the advantage height-wise, but Ryan was stronger, and the taller man obliged him willingly, toppling back against the mattress, chest heaving. He quickly unbuckled his belt, ridding himself of his pants with clumsy haste that would almost be humorous if he wasn’t so turned on.  Ryan shucked off his own jeans, whining a little as the zipper dragged against his erection. He took a minute, head bowed as he lazily palmed it, relieving some of that tension before forcing his hand away. He could feel Shane’s eyes on him— piercing and dark. He was flushed all the way down his chest, pupils blown out and lips parted as he let out a shaky breath.

He slipped his jeans down to his ankles, tossing them carelessly across the room and situating himself between Shane’s thighs. His hands instinctively came to rest on his sharp hipbones, graceful and slender like the rest of him, and Ryan thought this might be his new favourite spot— sprawled between Shane’s legs while he looked up at him like he was ravenous and revering all at once.

He gently slid his hands across the pale skin of his thighs, mapping out the area under his palms, feeling his pulse race at the touch. With purposeful movements, he pushed his knees apart, placing a kiss there, eyes flickering up to Shane’s awestruck face. He trailed the kisses down, moving further and further up his inner thigh until his breath was ghosting over his clothes erection, straining lewdly against his boxers.  Pre-come smeared against the thin material, plastering it to the head of his cock, pushing against the waistband. Ryan leaned in, hands sliding warmly up his sides, thumbs brushing against each rib as he pressed open-mouthed kisses down the line of his chest, erections mere inches apart as he hovered over him.

It felt nice to have control, Ryan thought as Shane shivered beneath him, hands clutched in the sheets, as if to prevent himself from bucking up and seeking the friction he so desperately craved. Ryan wanted to tease him like he had done to him— _”Be a good boy and stay still. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that brats don’t get what they want?”_

But he stayed quiet, fearing that any words he’d speak would come out sounding too fond. He settled for trailing his mouth down Shane’s abdomen, licking at the trail of hair there and dipping his tongue into his navel that had Shane shaking and letting out a sound halfway between a laugh and a moan.  Ryan smiled against his skin, locking eyes with him as he dragged his lips down, down, and pressed them right to the head of his cock, feather-light and teasing.

The effect was instant, Shane letting out a strangled gasp and canting his hips up, clothed erection brushing the side of Ryan’s cheek. 

“Please, Ry. Please—“ 

He smiled, having got the reaction he wanted, and before Shane could beg anymore, he sucked it past his lips, shallowly at first, just suckling at the clothed head of his cock, if only to see him squirm and choke out little aborted moans, pre-come soaking through the fabric along with Ryan’s own spit. 

Taking mercy on him, he slid his mouth off, tugging down his boxers and watching hungrily as his cock sprung out with a soft wet sound as it slapped against his stomach, flushed and gleaming as pre-come dribbled from the head. Ryan had only seen a handful of dicks in his life— one of them being his own, but he could already say that Shane had a pretty cock.  It was long and slightly curved to the side, a small vein running along the underside as it pressed against his stomach. Ryan wanted his hands and mouth on it immediately, saliva flooding his mouth in anticipation. 

Bracing his hands against his hips, Ryan gave it a slow lick from base to tip and drew it into his mouth, feeling Shane bear down on the mattress beneath him, hands hovering shakily, as if he didn’t know what to do with them. He bobbed down experimentally, getting a feel for it and feeling that familiar ache in his lower jaw that he knew he’d feel tomorrow.

Not to be cliché, but Shane really was _big_ and for someone who’d only sucked a handful of dicks in his life— the challenge was both daunting and exhilarating.

Feeling his jaw loosen up, lips sliding easier down the length, he took him in deeper, suckling softly at the head as he moved back up, eyes locked on Shane as his hands gently stroked up his length, teasing at the sensitive skin just under the head. His head lolled back as he let out a groan, eyes squeezed shut towards the ceiling as he squirmed beneath him.  Ryan’s hand slid up to grasp his jaw, fingers stroking the side of his stubbled face to keep his gaze locked on him. Once he had his attention, he smiled softly and took him in in one fell motion, feeling the tip hit the back of his throat as he swallowed around him.  Shane’s legs were trembling, flushed all the way down to his toes as he muffled a moan into his elbow. 

“Wait, wait,” he croaked, voice wrecked as if he’d been the one with a cock down his throat. “I’m gonna come, I wanna...I wanna—“

Ryan got the message, giving one last lick before pulling off and then being pulled into Shane’s arms and against his lips.

“Oh my god,” he said raggedly, kissing him senseless. “You are so fucking hot.”

Ryan let out a strained laugh against his lips, parting his own easily as Shane’s tongue prodded at his lower lip, drawing him into a deep, filthy kiss, tasting himself on Ryan’s tongue. It was lewd and intimate and fuck— Ryan had never felt anything quite like it.

“I’ll give you anything you want,” he panted between kisses, each word punctuated by the soft, wet sound of their tongues brushing together. “Just tell me what you want. Anything.”

Ryan’s mind spun with possibilities — all the things he’d imagine doing to Shane and Shane doing to him back when he was just a voice on the end of the phone blurred in his mind. Here, with Shane open and warm against him, all Ryan wanted was to be as close to him as possible.  Shane’s hands squeezed around Ryan’s hips as Ryan straddling his legs, and he rocked down against his thigh, burying his face in his neck and pressing his lips to the side of it as he murmured:

“Want you inside me. Want your fingers. Want your dick. Want you in me, Shane.” He let his lips trail down to his collarbone, salty and warm with sweat. _"Please."_

Shane pulled him closer, breathing shakily as Ryan rutted shamelessly against him, moaning softly into the crook of his neck. He pressed a kiss to his Adam’s apple, voice low and smooth in his ear.

“Yeah, baby. 'M gonna make you feel so good.”

Curled up in his lap, shivering under his careful ministrations and promising words, it was Ryan’s turn to surrender control, nodding imperceptibly against him, moaning a little as Shane’s big hands cupped his ass through his boxers, dick straining against the front of them, where he was grinding into the softness of his stomach.  True to his word, he pulled Ryan against him, flipping them over so he was pressed against the bed, wide-eyed and flushed as he settled between his thighs, tugging his boxers off, Ryan hissing as the cool air hit the slick skin of his cock. Reaching over to the bedside table, he pulled open the drawer, taking out a small bottle of lube.  Ryan watched through hooded eyes as he slicked up a slender finger expertly, rubbing the lube between his fingers to warm it up.

_“You’re supposed to warm it up between your fingers a little, so it doesn’t feel like you’re being fucked by Frosty the Snowman’s frozen dick,”_ Shane’s voice rung out in his mind, and he giggled quietly, Shane pinning him with an endeared smile as he bent down and pressed a kiss to the inside of his knee.

It was all too intimate, Ryan knew, but as Shane dragged a slickened finger down between his thighs, he couldn’t bring himself to dwell on the thought.  It was pleasantly warm, nudging between his cheeks, the finger dragging against his skin until it brushed over his hole. Ryan gasped, hips canting off the bed slightly as Shane pressed another kiss to his leg, smiling against his skin. 

He dragged the pad of his thumb over his sensitive hole, teasing it open until he could slide a finger through, biting gently at Ryan’s inner thigh as he moaned at the intrusion, back arching slightly as Shane’s free hand drew circles over his hip.

“So responsive,” he teased, thumb circling the rim as he pushed the finger in and out to the third knuckle, Ryan keening at the touch.

“More, Shane. Please more. Another finger.”

He grinned knowingly, but obliged, working a second finger into him, sliding against his walls, massaging them as his lips worked absentmindedly over Ryan’s inner thigh. Looking up from under his lashes, he slid in, crooking his fingers expertly in a way that had a moan rip through Ryan’s chest, conflicted between canting his hips up to seek friction to his aching cock, or to rock back against the fingers taking him apart.  In the end, he settled for a mix of both, Shane’s fingers rubbing over his prostate teasingly, thumb encircling the rim. Ryan’s breaths were sharp and punctuated with breathless moans, wanting nothing more than to rock back against Shane’s fingers, his cock, his _face._

His eyes rolled to the back of his head, cock dribbling a constant stream of pre-come, hot and messy as it smeared across his stomach, dripping down his thighs and towards his hole. 

“Please,” he begged. “Shane,  _ Shane.  Fuckmenowpleasethankyou,”  _ it came out as one word, interrupted by a whine as he leaned over and mouthed lazily at the head of his cock, twitching against his lips.

He laughed, the vibrations shuddering through him, and mercifully— _thank God_ — he pulled his fingers out, massaging at Ryan’s hips as they fell back against the bed, thighs trembling where he pressed a kiss to the skin.

He leaned over, drawing Ryan into a deep kiss, their cocks brushing together with a friction so good Ryan almost cried, rubbing off on his thigh as he made out with him.  But they were both close — teetering dangerously over the edge of that blinding white precipice of pleasure, and so they separated, Shane sitting back on his haunches and giving his cock a few loose strokes before taking it in hand, guiding it between Ryan’s thighs.  The head of his cock breached his hole, stretching it with a slight ache that had Ryan drawing a hiss between his teeth. Shane kissed it away, pulling his legs open further, grinding against him to make it easier. His hand came up to stroke Ryan’s cock, thumbing at the head, and he relaxed, crease of his brows smoothing out as he went boneless beneath him.  Just like that, Shane pushed in deeper, pushing his face into the crook of Ryan’s neck and sliding home.

Ryan whined, scrabbling at his back as he stilled, aching to feel him move. Shane got the memo, mouthing at his skin and drawing his hips back slowly, starting shallow, gentle thrusts that had Ryan moaning, meeting them with each rock back into it.

_”Shane,”_ he moaned against his neck, shivering as a familiar sparking pleasure pooled in his stomach. “I’m not— _oh._ ‘M not gonna last much longer.”

As if on cue, his cock twitched, dribbling pre-come onto the sheets. 

Shane huffed out a breath— hot and shuddering against his collarbone. “Me neither, Ry.”

He was trembling above him, thrusts becoming erratic and sloppy as he pushed into him. Gathering his thighs in his hands, he wrapped Ryan’s legs around his waist and brought his hips forward, grinding inside him, seeking out the right angle.  Suddenly, a white-hot spark of pleasure coursed through him, wracking through his body, and Ryan moaned loudly, thighs tightening around Shane’s waist.

“There, right there, Shane. Oh, _oh-"_

He thrust into him with short, pointed thrusts, fingers digging into Ryan’s hips as he hit his prostate over and over again, tipping him over the edge with a choked-off whine, come splattering all over his chest. Shane was close behind, cheeks flushed and expression strained as he drove into him. Ryan pulled a shaky hand up his hair, running through the strands plastered to his forehead as he encouraged him hoarsely.

“Yeah, _yeah._ Come on Shane, come for me. Let go, let—“

And then he was shuddering, thrusting twice more before coming with a groan, burying his face in Ryan’s sweaty shoulder, panting hotly into his neck.  His cock twitched inside of him, and Ryan felt that heat curl once more in his belly before Shane was collapsing against him, pulling out.  For a minute, they just lie there, enjoying the afterglow— Shane pressed against him, fingers dragging soft patterns across his ribs, Ryan’s doing the same along his back.

And then Shane was kissing him softly, smiling against Ryan’s lips.

“Now, I’d say that was a _slam dunk."_

Ryan choked out a laugh, burying his face in his hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Shut up, Shane.”

*

**_ Two months later... _ **

Sunlight streamed through the glass doors, spilling palely over the outside steps, bleaching the stone a faded grey. People bustled down the boulevard, a smudge of colours and noise against the backdrop of the clear blue sky. Somewhere in the distance, a busker was plucking away at a guitar, the soft music carrying through the air as palm trees rustled gently in the warm breeze.  Chimes trilled above him as he pushed through the Starbucks, warmth of the Californian summer’s air reaching out to envelope him once more before parting as the door closed, cool A.C. of the shop an appreciated respite from the heat.

Ryan tipped his _Lakers_ cap off, running a hand through the hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, mussing it up before placing the hat back on his head, grinning as he sidled up to the front counter.

“Hey hot stuff,” he purred, bracing his arms on the counter. “Could I get a tall glass of water?”

Shane immediately turned around at the sound of his voice, coffee machine long forgotten as he walked over to greet him, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I think that’s called a venti, actually.”

“Is it now?” Ryan cocked a brow, watching Shane’s eyes twinkle in the light.  _ God he was gorgeous.  _ “I could have sworn those cost more.”

“Mhm. Well you know me. Pushing that capitalist agenda.”

Shane’s own arms were parallel to his on the countertop, forearms exposed where his shirt was rolled up to his elbows, a green apron tied around his neck. His hair was soft and tousled, face clean-shaven and handsome and endearingly boyish. His watch winked at Ryan, and as he drew his gaze back up to Shane, his eyes seemed to be glittering too.

“Well, how much for a Shane?” he mused, leaning over and fiddling with his nametag. His fingers stilled over his chest and for a moment, they just rested there, right over Shane’s beating heart. They smiled softly at each other— so domestic right there in that Starbucks that Ryan’s heart clenched.

“Well, I’ll say, Bergara. Are you flirting with me?”

“Mhm. Maybe.”

Shane grinned, trapping his hand on his chest with his own, bringing it up into a soft kiss.

“No respect for PDA in the workplace, you heathen.”

Ryan just winked, revelling in the way after all this time, it still made Shane blush. He started to untie his apron, walking around the counter to hang it up, taking Ryan’s hand.

“Lucky for you, it’s my break anyway.”

Ryan let himself be lead out the doors and down the street. He looked down at their joined hands, Shane’s fingers soft and sure where they linked into his own. Ryan blushed, and as he turned his attention to the horizon, he felt Shane’s eyes on the side of his face and his hand squeeze gently down.  Butterflies swarmed in the pit of Ryan’s gut, migrating up between his lungs and settling into his ribs as he sighed contentedly. He didn’t think he would ever get tired of that.

The street opened up into the Santa Monica pier, blue waters glittering over white sand, colourful houses like sea glass on the beach. Laughter erupted from the ferris wheel as it touched the sky, families and friends milling around the stretch of beach, ice cream in hand. Sunlight stretched like a lazy cat over the steps, bathing their faces in a soft orange glow as they began to walk down the boardwalk hand in hand. 

Shane had quit his job after that night despite Ryan’s many reassurances. And really, it wasn’t because of Ryan at all. He hadn’t loved his job to begin with, it just took a little push to give it up— that push being a five-foot _nine, dammit-_ firecracker named Ryan Bergara with skin the colour of honey and kisses just as sweet.  Shane had come to realize he was a one-guy kind of man, and no sooner had he broke the news was he applying to Starbucks. He still kept in close contact with Kelsey, who was dying to meet the man she’d heard so much about, embarrassing him slightly as she fawned over Ryan.

_”You did good, Shane,”_ she had praised, looking at Ryan tucked under his arm.

There, under the warm sunlight, Ryan golden and soft as his smile lit up the whole damn sky, Shane thought she was right about that. 

Sara had been, as always, painfully supportive, treating Ryan with the same endearment of a mother meeting her son’s significant other for the first time. They were more or less best friends, and sometimes Shane wondered if Sara liked Ryan more than him.  But he couldn’t bring himself to be mad— not when Ryan laughed himself sore every time they ganged up against Shane in a joke.

Watching him now, glowing and ethereal in the early morning sun, a smile on his face brighter than the light winking off the horizon, Shane found himself a little breathless. How had he gotten so lucky?

“So,” he said carefully, trying to choose the right words. He focused on the boardwalk in front of them, if only to avoid Ryan’s imploring gaze. “I uh. I was thinking after college next year...I was thinking I’d apply for an internship. At Buzzfeed.”

Ryan cocked his head, a curious look coming over his face, clearly waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Not like, not like making those ‘What Kind of Bread are You?’ quizzes,” he said, earning a laugh from Ryan. “Like, the production part of it. I was thinking, maybe...” he trailed off.  _ Jesus why was this so hard? _

Ryan squeezed his hand encouragingly.

“I was thinking maybe you wanted to hunt ghouls on company dime with me. Uh, maybe get a travel budget and everything if it all goes well. Of course, we’d have to be interns for a while and I get it if you don’t want to, but—“

Ryan cut him off with a blinding grin. “Are you asking me to be your ghoulfriend?”

Shane stopped in his tracks, Ryan’s hand still wound around his own as he burst into laughter, all previous nervousness dissipating as they fell together like collapsing stars, bright against the cloudless sky. The sunlight caressed their cheeks, as as a gull squawked above them, Shane thought that for the first time in his life, everything was falling into place.

“Yeah,” Ryan said finally, beaming up at him. “I think I’d like that a lot.”

Shane couldn’t hold back— he took two steps forward and pulled him into a bruising kiss, smiling into it as Ryan’s hands wrapped around his waist.

_ He shoots...and he scores _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"And from the first time that I saw you  
>  Had I known you better then  
> I would've said those three old words  
> And from the first time that I saw you  
> Had I known you better then  
> Now I'm gonna move away  
> Another town another crazy day  
> Ooh I want to stay and maybe hang around you  
> Call it luck  
> Call it fate" _
> 
> ____
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos fuel me and are greatly appreciated, so please consider leaving them if you enjoyed! And hit me up on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ryansunsolved) to chat! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of wild to think I wrote this more or less over the course of two weeks. Everyone say _thank you, COVID-19._
> 
> Find me over on [tumblr! ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ryansunsolved)


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